


Fire, Smoke, and Magic: A Dragon Age 2 Retelling - Act 3

by TCRegan



Series: Fire, Smoke, and Magic [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Act 3 of Fire, Smoke, and Magic.</p>
<p>A retelling of Dragon Age 2 from the point of view of Anders. Complies mostly with the overarching story, though plays fast and loose with the canon in parts, especially with Hawke's back story. Last act of the series!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started as a quiet mid-morning stroll through Hightown. Anders enjoyed these little breaks, even as Justice tugged at his mind, imploring him that there were more important things to do. But the last few years were starting to take their toll. A viscount had yet to be appointed, Meredith was increasing her hold on the city, much to Aveline's chagrin. The City Guard had all but lost its own foothold, even if the inhabitants of Lowtown were pleased with their increase in protection. Templars were the norm in the city now, no longer content to stay in the Gallows, and nighttime raids happened almost weekly. Looking for apostates, searching for those who escaped the Gallows. Anders resumed his work, Thrask aiding him as they worked in tandem to help mages escape through the underground, but it was far riskier now than ever before.

So he allowed himself a small reprieve, fingers brushing against Hawke's as they enjoyed the crisp spring air. That winter had been a particularly harsh one, not that they'd spent a lot of it in Kirkwall. Three weeks in Cumberland being led around by a particular bossy elf had turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. Even if the pseudo-vacation was desperately needed. Even if Meredith sent Carver along to keep an eye on them – and Anders made sure he got _quite_ the eyeful. And even especially if Duke Prosper de Montfort ended up trying to kill them. All in day of the life of the Champion of Kirkwall, Anders supposed. Regardless, it wasn't quite as relaxing as the original wyvern hunt had promised to be.

Then there was the matter of another visit to the Deep Roads. An event that Anders truly did not want to think about. Again, Carver had been ordered to go with them but Hawke demanded he stay outside the entrance. It was a testament to _something_ that Carver agreed. Perhaps he had lost the desire to delve into the depths of the earth. The fact that he could be reached even in the Gallows by a cartel that so desperately wanted his – and Hawke's – blood had apparently unnerved him. And Anders noticed he seemed more tired, more drained, and perhaps a bit more mature. Maybe joining the Templars was a good thing. Maybe he was leveling out. But the journey itself was long and harrowing and left them all drained. Varric had drunk himself into a stupor immediately following their return to Kirkwall, and Fenris locked himself up in his borrowed and derelict mansion. Anders found conversation difficult, and was glad when Hawke merely held him, though he felt guilty for that. He should've been the one comforting Hawke. It was Hawke's past they discovered, his father's voice he'd heard. But Hawke hadn't wanted to talk about it either. Nightmares of what they'd found down there faded after a few months, and sleep eventually became easier.

Hawke took his hand, entwining their fingers. It was a simple gesture, but enough that it sent Anders' heart racing. He felt Hawke's thumb brushing slowly along his own, and smiled slightly. Over three years and it still felt surreal to him. Hawke was supportive, staying quiet when Anders didn't want to discuss his midnight dealings, listening to him rant when Meredith made another move for more power, holding him when he cried over the death or tranquility of another mage that didn't deserve it. Other than Justice, Hawke was the only one who saw him vulnerable. Who saw his desperation. Who understood that this struggle was coming to a head, very, very quickly. He'd penned one final, hopeless plea to the Grand Cleric and received a very terse response, thanking him for his concern and telling him in not so many words that it was in the hands of the Maker.

It was Hawke who had erupted into angry ranting when Anders showed him the letter. Anders had only seen him that angry a few times since he'd known him. It was terrifying, and he wondered if Hawke felt the same fear when Justice emerged. Hawke had calmed eventually, but the entire day was peppered with his making not-so-veiled threats at the Chantry. Anders wondered just how willing he'd be to go through with those threats, but decided not to ask. After all, Sebastian was a regular in their –and it was still odd to think of the estate as his as well – home. As often as Anders and Hawke were seen together, Anders still maintained anonymity among the people of Hightown. Unless he was out like today, on Hawke's arm so to speak, they barely paid him any attention. In Lowtown and Darktown especially, he was still reverently known as 'the Healer' and continued his clinic duties. Though if he had started using the Amell family estate's extensive wine cellar as a safe, comfortable convalescence home, and Orana regularly aided him with the easier to treat wounds, that would be his little secret.

Angry shouting alerted them both, neatly breaking up Anders' daydreaming and interrupting their pleasant stroll.

"It's always something," Hawke muttered, releasing Anders' hand.

They rounded the corner, just yards from their front door. The square was packed with nobles, and Orsino was standing on a dais in the middle of the steps leading up to the Viscount's Keep. He was gesturing fiercely, and Anders leaned against a pillar to listen.

"I know you fear mages, but Knight-Commander Meredith uses that fear to take control of your city!"

"He's going to get himself locked up," Hawke muttered, though his tone was admiration rather than admonishment. He placed a palm flat on the pillar behind Anders, other hand on his hip as he watched Orsino pace. "Confined to quarters."

"Glad to see he finally decided to say something," Anders commented.

"She opposes every effort to replace Viscount Dumar, and you have seen the chaos of her reign!" Orsino continued.

"He's gotten a bit flowery in his speech since last we spoke," Hawke sighed.

"Clearly too many bad romance novels," Anders replied, but he felt a stirring of pride for Orsino. The elf used to be a limp fish, a bird whose wings had been clipped. Even if nothing would come from his impromptu ranting, it meant he was finally showing a spine.

"Will you allow it?" Orsino demanded, pointing out over the crowd. 

A few nobles shook their heads, but most were looking apprehensive. Anders was about to speak again when he heard the clanking of plate behind him. Instinctively he turned, and Hawke took his arm, pulling him back a bit. Though they were free to traverse Hightown, Hawke still taking orders from Meredith, she still cut an imposing figure through the crowd, and still wielded the ability to arrest them with one command.

"Return to your homes," she barked. "This farce is over." She came to stand at the foot of the dais, glaring up at Orsino.

"Wait!" Orsino called. "Perhaps there are some who might disagree with you, Knight-Commander."

Anders saw Orsino's eyes flick to them. Hawke frowned, and Anders felt his annoyance. It was one thing to show support for Orsino and the mages, but it was another to brazenly go against Meredith in front of the nobility. But Hawke's own motivations were put into question now, and he stepped forward into the crowd, which parted easily for him. Anders relaxed only a little, seeing their looks of reverence for Hawke. They were still telling the tale of the Arishok duel, still depending on him to keep their streets safe. He was their own five copper novel hero.

Meredith scowled at Hawke before looking back to Orsino. "Do not hide behind the Champion. He has no role in this."

Hawke continued to move forward until he was level with Meredith, Orsino looking down at both of them. "I'm sure no one wants a fight today. Let's just calm down."

"I should remain calm while a mage provokes an uprising? I think not."

Anders blanched at that. _A mage_ she said. Not "the First Enchanter" or even his name. Just another mage. Orsino had noticed the slight as well, the lack of acknowledgment of his official title that, despite everything, he had earned. It was akin to calling her "a Templar".

Orsino descended the steps, gesturing to Hawke. "I think the Champion's views would be appreciated. Or do you fear what he has to say?"

Hawke crossed his arms. It was a move that might have been intimidating had he been in his sleeveless robes, a staple of his wardrobe in the hotter summer months. But an unusually cold winter had led to a very chilly spring and his long black robes with white belt did not quite have the same effect. The stare, however, did. Anders saw several nobles whisper behind their hands at one another, waiting.

"I fear nothing," Meredith said, and Anders quite believed her. 

She was the ultimate power in Kirkwall now and nothing short of a rebellion would likely remove her. A rebellion or perhaps Chantry involvement. But the rebellion would likely come sooner, if Elthina was any indication.

"My only interest here is in keeping order and protecting the innocent," she continued.

Orsino sneered. "And the mages under my watch you continue to harass? The Templar guards you put on high alert?"

"It is my sworn duty-"

Hawke cut in. "Orsino, I understand your frustrations, but is this the time and place to do it?"

"The people of this city need to know what's really happening!" Orsino snarled, and Anders watched as the First Enchanter stepped up to Hawke.

Despite Hawke's lost few inches on Anders, he was still quite a bit taller than the First Enchanter, elves having a natural height disadvantage. But the rage that emanated from Orsino made him seem stronger, more powerful. The Templars behind Meredith shifted uneasily. Anders anticipated a quick and dirty cleansing, but it never came.

"Then what?" Meredith asked. "They tear down the Gallows with pitchforks and torches? That would be better?"

"It cannot be worse! Your refusal to listen to reason leaves me no choice."

It was almost as if they'd forgotten Hawke was there. Though they'd effectively dragged him into their quarrel – one that seemed to be an ongoing debate for months if not years – they seemingly were happy to ignore him as they continued.

"What I refuse to listen to are excuses! Perhaps you are ill-fit to your position if you cannot understand this."

Orsino opened his mouth again but Hawke stepped between them.

"All right! This is ridiculous. Knight-Commander, you have to admit that Orsino has a point," he said, rather diplomatically. "Your methods are becoming extreme."

Anders was irritated as well as proud. In the past, Hawke was someone who would throw fireballs first and ask questions later. As much as he did miss that, turning the square into a massacre would be the fastest way for both of them to end up in the Gallows.

"And you could do better?" Meredith asked, eyebrow raised. "How well did you protect your own mother? Did she not die at a blood mage's hands?"

Anders was already pushing himself away from the pillar the moment Meredith mentioned Leandra. He'd just grabbed Hawke's arm to keep him from… from what? Punching the Knight-Commander in the face more than likely. His body shook with anger, and Anders whispered, "Not here."

Meredith smirked. "And here is your Grey Warden to pull on your leash."

"You _bitch_ ," Hawke snarled, and Anders had to pull him back.

A few Templars behind Meredith had started to pull their swords, but Meredith held up a hand. She stepped forward and lowered her voice so that only Hawke, Anders and Orsino could hear. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you, Champion. There is only so much protection that your title and nobility can afford you and your –" her eyes flicked to Anders, then back to Hawke, "friend," she finished with a smirk.

"You're trying to take control of the city," Hawke said, loud enough for the surrounding nobles to hear.

Meredith stepped back. "I am trying to keep order until there is a ruler capable of succeeding where Dumar failed!"

"And if not?" Orsino cut in, glowering at her. "Will the Templars rule Kirkwall forever? The Templar Order exists to guard the Chantry and Circle. I suggest you let the nobility rule, and allow the City Guard to do its job in protecting Kirkwall!"

From somewhere in the crowd, a noble spoke up. "Hear, hear!"

And several others chimed in in agreement. Meredith turned her glare on the crowd, and Anders noticed how quickly they quieted.

"I do not need you or anyone to tell me what my duty is, mage," Meredith said quietly.

"First Enchanter," Anders snapped, unable to stop himself. He returned Meredith's glare. "Or shall we start addressing you as _Templar_?"

Hawke cut her off. "No matter what you think, Knight-Commander," he said, emphasizing her title, "the First Enchanter has a point. Templars aren't here to rule the city with an iron fist. The raids you conduct are becoming extreme. A Templar pulled one of my neighbors from her tea with her daughter to question her and she was bruised from the brutality."

Whether or not the accusation was true, Anders knew the rumor would spread like wildfire through the crowd and the city, and cause them to question Meredith, even quietly amongst themselves.

"Face it, Knight-Commander," Orsino said. "You are done."

"That is for me to decide! No one else!"

"My, my," came a gentle voice, and the crowd parted again. The Grand Cleric stepped serenely forward, nodding at the nobles who looked at her almost reverently. Sebastian, so much her shadow these past few years, trailed after. "Such a terrible commotion."

Meredith turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. "This m-" She frowned. "The First Enchanter seeks to incite a rebellion, Your Grace. I am dealing with it."

Elthina looked them over, Meredith and her glare, Orsino and his righteous indignation, to Hawke and Anders, who was still gripping Hawke's arm to keep him from throwing a punch. Sebastian looked at Hawke with an indiscernible expression on his face. 

"Orsino," Elthina finally said, looking at him, "Do you think this is truly wise?"

"I…" Orsino seemed to know he was defeated. Elthina had made her politics clear. She wouldn't take a side, and that essentially allowed Meredith free reign. "No, Your Grace."

"Of course not," Elthina agreed. "Young men," she said, addressing the Templars behind Meredith. "Could you show First Enchanter Orsino back to the Circle? Gently, if you please."

As much antipathy as he held for Elthina, Anders felt a bit of glee as she pulled rank on Meredith. The Templars bowed and moved to obey. Meredith looked positively incensed.

"Your Grace! He should be clapped in irons! Made an example!"

"That's enough, Meredith," Elthina said tersely. She continued, quietly, "Surely you can see that this demeans us all. Go back to the Gallows and calm down, like a good girl."

Meredith's blue eyes were icy, but even she dared not say anything to the Grand Cleric. She bowed, turned on her heel, and left. Elthina turned to Hawke. Anders finally dropped his arm.

"You have my thanks for stepping in, Champion. If you had not…"

Anders wondered if she would have said as much if she'd heard the entire debate.

"Sending them back to the Gallows like they were petulant children isn't going to solve anything. Aren't you going to weigh in on this yet?" Hawke demanded.

Sebastian stepped forward. "You cannot presume to-"

"I can speak for myself, Sebastian, thank you," Elthina said calmly. "It's true the situation is growing a bit uncomfortable."

"Oh I just love euphemisms early in the morning," Anders snapped. "'A bit uncomfortable' is stubbing your toe. It's not watching Templars drag innocent civilians through the streets on suspicions of harboring apostates."

"And where are these civilians?" Elthina asked in that same gentle tone, not rising to the argument. "I've yet to see anyone come forward first-hand with these allegations of abuse."

"Because they're terrified of Meredith!" Hawke said, taking the words from Anders's mouth.

Elthina smiled softly. She didn't answer Hawke, instead, turned to the crowd. "Gentle people of Kirkwall, return to your homes, I implore you. This will not be solved today."

"But it could be," Sebastian urged, as the crowd broke apart. "If you were to take a stance. If the Chantry just-"

"The Chantry's position is that of patience and guidance, Sebastian. You would do well to remember that."

Anders saw the same frustration in Sebastian that he felt in himself. It irritated him to have something in common with a man like him. Someone who so readily sided with the Templars and saw Hawke's being watched as something that was necessary. Even now, Anders could see two Templars in the distance, keeping a careful eye on them. They didn't even bother hiding it anymore. At first, it had been a lark. Hawke was happy to stand naked at the window in the estate and wave at the Templars below. He even called out, inviting them –jokingly – to join him and Anders in bed. But as the years wore on it simply became irritating. He always had the basement trapdoor if he needed to move in secrecy, but leaving by the front meant he'd be followed. It was unnerving to go shopping in the market with two or more plain-clothed Templars not so discreetly looking at things in the stall next to the one you were at.

"I'll attend to the Gallows momentarily," Elthina said. "Until then, Champion, I have something I need to discuss with you in private."

Anders knew she meant to send him away. He bristled, but calmed when Hawke touched his hand.

"I'll come home when I can, love," Hawke said, and kissed him gently.

Anders smirked at Sebastian's look and took Hawke's face carefully in his hands, deepening the kiss just a bit before pulling back. "Don't be late for supper, sweetheart," he replied. "Orana's cooking dumplings."

"Mm," Hawke murmured against his lips. "Tasty."

Sebastian cleared his throat, averting his eyes, and Anders waved jovially, wiggling his fingers as the three of them left. In a time when little pleasures were so difficult to find, he would grab the opportunities when he could. If that meant making a self-righteous prick like Sebastian blush and cough at a barely scandalous display of public affection, he would take it.

Lovely morning stroll essentially ruined, he headed home. He greeted Bodahn and Sandal, nodding to Orana who was working on mending some of Hawke's robes that had been torn by an overlarge spider. He was impressed she was able to get them cleaned of the slimy goo the thing had spat all over them. She was rather invaluable to have around, and after a few years, she'd even started to spend some of her wages. In her ears were a pair of modest pearl earrings and she had a popular shade of rouge on her lips that the nobles in Kirkwall seemed to fancy. Anders whistled idly as he sifted through the mail on the table, not that he expected to see his name on any of them.

He picked up a note written in a familiar hand.

_Garrett,_

_It's been so long since you've come to see me. I know I've been married and you and that other mage are close. And I know what you said at Chateau Haine, but I thought perhaps you were saving face in front of that elven girl. Still, it's no excuse not to pop in on an old friend. I could make it worth your while._

_Come see me._

_Elegant_

Anders stopped whistling. The paper crumpled a bit in his hand. He turned, walked two paces to the fire, and deftly dropped it in. While lyrium was harder to come by now that Meredith's hold on the city was nearly ironclad, there were other means of obtaining it. Varric, for example, was able to stretch out his contacts and kept them supplied well enough. Before he could return to snooping through the mail, a harsh barking from upstairs caught his attention. Frowning, he abandoned the rest of the letters and climbed the stairs.

"Stop that," he snapped, seeing Filet growling at the wardrobe. "What's gotten into you?" He nudged the mabari aside with a thigh and opened it up. "See, nothing but clothing and old-" 

But there was an unfamiliar box at the bottom. A box that had holes in the top and seemed to be moving. He knelt down, hesitating, but carefully removed the top. A black and grey tabby kitten blinked in the light and looked up at him. It mewled pitifully. Next to it, a smaller box of sand and dish of food. Frowning, he picked it up, lifting it from the blanket, revealing a piece of paper. He took it and read.

_Anders,_

_Happy Anniversary. Though I don't know if it's really our anniversary. I'm bad at dates. Anyway, Merrill said one of the alley cats in the alienage had kittens and she was all that was left. The kitten, I mean, not Merrill. So I thought maybe you'd like her. Just smile and nod at me so I don't have to explain this out loud as I stare at you like an idiot, okay? Thanks._

_Love,_

_G_

Anders looked from the note to the kitten, who was struggling in his hand. Filet nosed his way in and sniffed before giving the kitten a loving, slobbering lick that coated Anders' hand as well. He didn't mind though, settling back to sit on the carpet, gently placing the kitten in his lap. She toddled awkwardly over his robes before climbing to his knee where she proceeded to clean herself of the dog drool. He watched her, still frowning. Hawke had gotten him a kitten. Amidst all the chaos and the traveling, the errands he had to run for Meredith, for Orsino and the city. All the problems Hawke had to deal with amongst his own friends – the constant favors he did, the fights he broke up (thought Anders thought he'd been doing much better and showing much more restraint when Fenris started in on mages), Hawke found time to get him a cat.

He rubbed his eyes, palms pressing harshly against them until little dots appeared in his vision. Here he was, fearsome mage, Healer of Darktown, Grey Warden, slayer of darkspawn and nasty beasties, and he was going to cry because his lover had gotten him a kitten. It was absurd. The kitten crawled toward him, reached up a paw, trying to bat at one of the feathers on his coat. He scooped her up and placed her carefully on his left shoulder where she circled twice before laying down amidst the dark feathers, and yawned. Slowly as to not jostle her, he got to his feet and shut the wardrobe doors. He hadn't meant to ruin Hawke's surprise, but he couldn't leave her in the closet now, knowing she was there, and meant for him.

"We'll have to think of a good name for you," he said, carrying her out of the room. "Maybe something to do with magic?"

There was a knock on the front door as he approached the top of the stairwell. Bodahn left the main hall to answer it.

"No, I'm afraid he's not home," Anders heard him say. "But yes, I suppose you could wait."

Aveline stalked into the room, looking irritated. She glanced up, looking at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Anders descended the steps.

"He's at the Chantry," he said carefully, knowing Aveline certainly wasn't there for him.

"I'll wait."

Anders gestured to the sideboard where Hawke always kept a decanter of whiskey. "Would you like a drink while you wait?" Though Anders rarely drank lately, Hawke had been finding more excuses to bring up different vintages from the cellar. 

"I'm on duty," Aveline said sharply. "I only came by because Hawke said he needed to speak to me. And of course he can't do me the courtesy of showing up on time."

"Oh yes, because Hawke's time is completely his own," Anders said, contemplating actually pouring himself a glass. 

In the corner, he could see Orana look up from her chair. She blushed and ducked her head and resumed her mending. Bodahn had hastily excused himself, taking Sandal with. They'd see more than their fair share of shouting matches in the estate's main hall, not an insignificant amount that had involved Aveline. Anders couldn't blame them for leaving quickly. He pulled the sleeping kitten from his pauldron and gently placed her in an inside pocket, buttoning up his coat.

"I didn't come here to argue with you."

"But you're doing such a lovely job. Don't stop now. I mean, why ruin a good thing?"

Aveline scoffed, arms folded and walked away, pacing now. "You're impossible. I don't know how he puts up with you."

"I'm charming. Besides, I could say the same about your dear husband. How was the honeymoon, by the way? You were in Orlais about the same time we were, weren't you?"

"Yes, we were, and it was fine. I'd thank you if I thought your interest was genuine."

"Far be it from me to not be a gracious host to my lover's friends," Anders said, and poured himself a small measure of the amber liquid. He sipped, wincing a bit. Whiskey for breakfast wasn't his ideal choice, but it gave him something to do with his hands that didn't involve electrocuting the Captain of the Guard. "You know, Donnic agrees with me."

Aveline sighed, resigned to her fate to making small talk with Anders until Hawke returned. "About what?"

Anders smirked. He loved poking at Aveline, though it was much like poking a sleeping giant. In the three years since Hawke defeated the Arishok, Aveline had yet to make any threats, thinly veiled or not, to arrest either of them. It was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it mean that Meredith had the ultimate control in the city, going above Aveline's head to make sure Hawke wasn't arrested (bad for morale), but on the other, it meant that Meredith now had the ultimate control in the city.

"He thinks Meredith's gone crazy. He told me she's gone behind your back to investigate guardsmen she suspects as secret mages." 

It was only half-true. Meredith had been making inquiries into the guard, though surreptitiously and through her Knight-Captain. But the increased paranoia had Donnic on edge, and he'd mentioned it the previous week when he'd come for a diamondback game with Hawke, Varric and Fenris.

Aveline rolled her eyes. "Even if it were true, which it's not, he wouldn't tell you."

"He did so."

"Right."

"Feel free to ask Hawke. He said as much when he was here the other day."

Aveline frowned. "Why was Donnic here?"

"He comes over to play cards with us. And Fenris and Varric and sometimes Isabela," he added casually. "Oh and that other lieutenant, that handsome fellow with the chin-length black hair."

"Jalen?" Aveline asked in disbelief.

"Yes, that's him," Anders said, taking another sip to cover his grin. "He tells a lot of fun stories." And, because Aveline was turning redder with every word he spoke, he added, "I'm surprised you didn't know."

"Even if my husband does come here for cards – which is perfectly _fine_ ," she added, though her tone indicated it was anything but, "I'm sure he wouldn't talk to you about procedures."

"Hm," Anders said, idly scratching the scruff on his chin. "You know, when the time comes, he's not going to fight for Meredith. Do you think you could turn on your own husband?"

Aveline started forward quickly and Anders straightened, readying a spell to block whatever punch she might throw. She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, yanking him away from the table and opened her mouth to say something.

"AVELINE!"

She let go quickly and turned away from him. In the door, Hawke stood, staff in hand, looking livid. Anders tried his best to appear hurt and ruffled, which wasn't difficult as Aveline's manhandling had caused several feathers to fall from his pauldrons. Inside his coat, he felt the kitten squirm around before getting comfortable again and purring against his chest.

"Hawke," she said.

"I assume there's a reason you're here and treating Anders like some kind of criminal."

"You wanted to meet me for something," she said, gauntleted fingers flexing and uncurling.

Hawke strode forward, waving her away. He glared at her a moment before turning fully to Anders. "Are you okay?" he asked, gently cupping Anders' chin and looking him over.

Anders blushed ever so slightly at the tender treatment. He wasn't a delicate flower that would quell so easily under one guard's rough handling. But he appreciated the concern, and took Hawke's hand, kissing his fingertips. "I'm fine. She didn't do any permanent damage."

Hawke eyed the glass in his hand, and Anders handed it to him. Hawke smirked and knocked back the whiskey like it was water and turned to Aveline. "I heard a rumor."

Aveline made a 'go on' gesture.

Hawke sifted through the mess of papers on the desk before picking one out. He leaned against the desk and began to read. "'Champion Hawke.'" He paused, letting Aveline stew in his title a moment before continuing. "'As a courtesy for your past service, be aware that I have received complaints about your frequent companion, Guard-Captain Aveline. She is accused of coddling her men and weakening law enforcement in this crucial time. In the absence of a viscount, I am called to vacate her position and assume her authority, but I would rather not have that headache.

"'Please, speak with her about these claims. As Champion, your word can decide this matter, and save the career of a good woman. Knight-Captain Cullen'."

Anders watched Aveline's face as Hawke read. It had gone from red to white, back to a very, very flushed scarlet. She was now clenching her fists, and strode forward quickly, ripping the letter from Hawke's hands. Briefly she read it over, her lips moving, eyes darting across the page. She crumpled it up and threw it in the fire.

"Still willing to put up with Meredith now?" Anders asked, unable to help himself.

"This is outrageous!" Aveline snapped. "These, these Templars have always strutted around like peacocks, acting as if they run the city-"

"Which they do for the moment," Hawke said.

Aveline put her hands on her hips. "You don't honestly believe the Knight-Captain, do you?"

"Why else would he write to me?" Hawke asked. "I mean, other than to invite me out for a night of cards."

Anders knew that one of the only reasons Cullen still agreed to speak with Hawke was so that he could spy on him for Meredith. To Cullen, Anders was simply Hawke's quiet lover, someone who stayed at home while Hawke paraded about the city righting wrongs and continuing to assist where he could. Anders always made it a point to be home when Hawke returned with Cullen after their outings, and did his best to annoy the Knight-Captain if he ever deigned to stay for a nightcap with Hawke. It wasn't his fault Cullen became flustered at the slightest mention of sex. Hawke for his part, merely seemed amused by the antics.

"Speaking of that," Aveline started, then stopped. "It's not important. What is important are these baseless accusations. Who would dare!"

"Are they so baseless?" Hawke asked. "I helped you get position of captain; I wouldn't want you to squander it."

"You – I am not coddling my men!"

"So prove it," Hawke said easily. "Then I can report to the Knight-Captain what I've found and we can lay them to rest."

Anders thought that Hawke could've easily lied to Cullen. He would believe it, too. But Hawke was putting Aveline through her paces. It was good for her, Anders believed. If the Templars were suspecting her of being soft and she was reacting this way, then maybe she would start seeing Meredith's oppressive nature for what it was.

"Fine," she said, tapping her foot, thinking. "If I'm accused of coddling anyone, it would be Donnic. You'll come with me tonight to intercept his patrol on the docks. Then you can see for yourself."

Hawke looked to Anders, who shrugged. "I've got nothing planned tonight."

"No," Aveline said. "Just you, Hawke."

Anders smirked. "Afraid the Knight-Captain's right and I'll see you at your worst?"

She glared. "Just you, Hawke," she said again.

"All right, fine," he said placatively. "I'll be at the Hanged Man. You can come find me when it's time, I'm sure."

She turned on her heel and left. Hawke handed his empty glass to Anders with a sigh. Anders set it on the sideboard and moved over to Hawke, pulling him into a hug. A faint mewling from within his coat prevented him from getting too close, and Hawke looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh that," Anders said, and laughed as Hawke opened his coat, reaching in to pull out the kitten. "I found your surprise. Sorry," he added. "The dog was growling at the wardrobe and…"

Hawke sighed. "I was going to give her to you tonight at dinner. I suppose we're neither having a private dinner nor experiencing an anniversary surprise."

Anders kissed him gently before taking the kitten and depositing her back into his pocket. "I think she's perfect. Thank you." And he hugged Hawke again, careful not to crush or crowd the kitten. "You'll have to help me come up with a name for her."

"Snookums?" Hawke suggested, laughing at the face Anders made. "Mittens? Whiskers?"

"You're horrible, stop that. You'll hurt her feelings."

Hawke grinned. "Just make sure she doesn't replace me in your affections."

"Love, you got me a cat. Unless she brings me another cat, it's a tough act to follow. What did the Grand Cleric want, by the way?" he asked, pulling Hawke upstairs, into the bedroom.

Hawke slumped onto the loveseat, propping his feet up and stretching out. "Apparently Divine Justinia has gotten wind of what's going on here. After the Qunari attack, Orlais has taken a greater interest in Kirkwall."

Anders settled himself at the desk, moving away some of his papers. He took the kitten from his pocket before removing his coat, and set her on a book on Tevinter magics he'd been reading. She sniffed around, batting at a crumpled up ball of paper. It fell off the desk and she wriggled her backside before jumping the length to the floor. Anders winced as she landed gracelessly. Both he and Hawke watched her hunt it for a while.

"Apparently my becoming Champion has led her to think that the Free Marches are going to turn into another Imperium," Hawke said, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Anders frowned. "I'm sure Fenris would have something to say about that if it were true."

Hawke grunted. "Apparently an apostate running free is the ultimate insult to the Chantry."

"No, an apostate running a city is the ultimate insult."

"I don't run the city," Hawke argued.

"You're right," Anders acceded, "it runs you."

Hawke looked over at him and Anders smirked. "Are we going to have that argument again?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "Because if we are, I'm going to pull the, 'running a clinic out of my basement at all hours of the night when you should be asleep' card."

Anders frowned. "You know about that?" He thought he'd been so careful.

"I had my suspicions. You just confirmed them."

Anders sputtered. "You – "

Hawke held his arms out, gesturing him over. "You could have asked. I would have said yes."

Anders begrudgingly went over and leaned down into his embrace. Hawke yanked him over to lie on top of him and kissed him.

"Mm. So," Anders said, brushing Hawke's hair back. He placed little kisses down Hawke's scar, starting from his forehead down to his chin. "The Divine is worried you'll take over the Free Marches with your magey-ness."

"So she's sent an agent to assess the danger and wants me to meet with her to convince her otherwise."

"I think the Grand Cleric might be inhaling a bit too many of her sacred herbs," Anders said. "The Divine is worried that you'll take over-"

"Well not just me, all the mages."

"Oh the ones locked up in the Gallows?" Anders asked, kissing him softly. "Or the ones that are scared Meredith will kill their families so they turn to demons for help?"

"You're preaching to the choir, love," Hawke reminded him.

Anders sighed and scooted down so he could rest his cheek on Hawke's chest. Hawke laid his hand on his back, rubbing gently, the other tucked behind his head again. Anders listened to the beating of his heart, felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and watched as the kitten curled up just under the bed for another impromptu nap.

"She asked Sebastian to go as well," Hawke said. "Tonight in the viscount's throne room."

"Why would an agent of the Divine want to meet there? That room's been sealed since the fight," Anders muttered, relaxing further as Hawke removed the tie from his hair and ran his fingers through it. "Keep doing that."

"Probably for that reason. No one else would think to go there. It's private."

"I'm going with you," Anders sighed as Hawke scratched gently at his scalp. "I don't trust Sebastian to keep you safe. If this agent was sent to kill you instead of talk to you…"

"It's a possibility I've thought of," Hawke agreed. "And Fenris too."

Anders groaned. "You're ruining a nice moment."

"It'll put Sebastian at ease," Hawke explained.

Anders turned his head, burying it in Hawke's chest. "Ruining it further."

"They get along. And Fenris won't let this agent get the upper hand, and you'll be there in case anything goes horribly wrong."

"It's going to be a long night. Donnic's patrol, reporting to the Knight-Captain, then this late night meeting."

"Mm. But think about how boring life would be otherwise."

Anders leaned up and kissed his chin. "Hm, let me imagine it. No running down the coast or up a mountain into caves searching for missing apostates because the mages would be free. No performing errands for the Guard or the Templars or the Chantry. No making daring rescue missions."

"See? Boring," Hawke said. "Besides, what else would we do to pass the time if not fetching worthless trinkets for irritating debutantes?"

"I could think of a few things…"

Hawke chuckled, and Anders slid down lower, glad that Donnic's patrol was still hours off.


	2. Chapter 2

"And then the dragon reared back, readying another breath of flame. Hawke lifted his staff-"

Anders leaned over slightly to whisper in Hawke's ear. "You have to admit he's good at that."

Varric was in the corner, telling a crowd of people a story about one of their more recent trips out to the Bone Pit, a mine that until recently, Hawke co-owned with an Orlesian slime named Hubert. After a high dragon laid waste to it (and then subsequently destroyed it), Hubert had to declare himself bankrupt and left for Orlais to pursue other ventures. But not before Hawke demanded the deed. Anders thought he might have been crazy, but after a few weeks of finding formidable men to not only work but guard the mine, he started production again. It would be another few months before the mine was actually profitable once more. And then in another move of compassion, Hawke handed the deed to Anders.

_"For Lirene," he said. "Once profits come in, she can use them to help Fereldans in the city, or for whatever activities on the side she might get up to."_

It was acknowledgment that Anders worked the underground still, and had Hawke's approval. Not that Anders needed approval from anyone to continue the work he'd started with Selby. But it was a relief that Hawke would not press him. His daily concerns of Anders not eating enough, not sleeping enough, seemingly stemmed from the late hours he worked in his clinic. And while that could be considered subversive in its own right – practicing healing without an official license from the city – it was easier for them both to pretend the clinic and not the underground was the cause of his lethargy. Hawke wouldn't have to technically lie to Cullen and Meredith, and Anders wouldn't have to answer Hawke's questions regarding his needing help. It was best if Hawke remained as far away from the underground as Anders could keep him.

"He's ridiculous," Hawke said, interrupting his thoughts. But there was a small note of affection in his tone.

Anders knew he was smiling, even if he couldn't see Hawke's face under the hood he wore. It wasn't the best disguise, but no one looked twice at someone wearing a hood unless they wished to get knifed. Anders leaned forward, sipping his coffee, casting his eyes to the door. "Aveline's late."

"The Captain of the Guard is never late," Hawke said, stretching. "She runs on her own time. Though I can think of a thousand other things I'd rather be doing than waiting to go check on one of her patrols."

"You could have lied to the Knight-Captain," Anders suggested.

"I would never lie to him."

"Oh? Is that why he seemed so surprised when you were revealed to be a mage?" Anders asked, nudging Hawke's knee with his own.

"I never lied," Hawke said again. "He never asked me if I was a mage."

"But he asked about me."

"You know he did. I told you. He wanted to warn me that you were a dangerous apostate." Hawke yawned. "One who would surely take advantage of my hospitality."

Despite the early hour of the evening, it had been a long day. Almost immediately following their brief but very pleasant break at the estate, Hawke left to attend to his errands and Anders to do some much needed shopping. Tailed by several Templars of course.

"Ah, I remember," Anders said. He was about to elaborate on one of the many stories he recalled about Cullen when the door opened and Aveline stalked in. "Oh look, your date for the night."

"Maybe I should have brought flowers. She looks a little annoyed." Hawke quickly squeezed Anders' thigh and stood up. "Hopefully this won't take long. Wait for me."

"Always."

Hawke paused and Anders could feel another smile before he crossed the room to meet Aveline. He couldn't hear their conversation over the noise in the room and Varric's thrilling end to his tale.

"And our dashing healer, blond hair waving in the wind raced to the hero's side. 'Don't be dead,' he begged as he used the last of his energy to bring his one true love back from the brink of death. We all held our breath, waiting. And then-" Varric paused for dramatic effect. "Hawke slowly opened his eyes. 'You saved my life,' he whispered. 'Only because you saved mine,' the dashing healer replied. And they kissed as the sun set behind the mountain. To be continued."

Anders leaned forward, elbows on the table, face in his hands, feeling a flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. Varric had a way of romanticizing every little tale. He remembered the end of the fight. It was less heroic saving and more mending the broken shin bone that Hawke had suffered when the dragon's tail tripped him up. And Fenris had gotten the killing blow with a little help from Varric himself, shooting it square in the eye. Hawke had screamed bloody murder when Anders set the bone. He still remembered Hawke lying in the sand, biting hard on Varric's belt to keep from biting his own tongue. Anders immediately numbed the pain after, but Hawke still had to be dragged back to Kirkwall between himself and Fenris.

"So," Varric said, sitting down in Hawke's vacated seat, nudging him. "Good ending?"

Anders let out a shaky laugh. "Sure. If you like that kind of thing."

"Most people do," Varric said. "And in times like these when happy endings aren't likely to happen, we need the ones we can get, even in fairytales. Don't worry. I got the real history written down."

"Including the part where Hawke vomited on your shoes from the pain?"

Varric poured himself a cup of coffee. "Mm. Well, most of the real history. We'll keep the real embarrassing parts for the First Day celebration parties."

Anders made light conversation with him after, discussing Hawke, their friends, the current state of Kirkwall. "Varric," he said carefully. "I was wondering if you could find a few books for me. I've checked Hawke's library but…"

"If it exists, I can likely find it," Varric said confidently. "Titles?"

He pulled a slip of paper from his coat and handed it to Varric, who took out a pair of reading glasses, perched them on his nose, and started to read. "Is this Antivan?"

"Tevene, actually," Anders answered. "There are a few spells and potions in there that I want to look into."

Varric reread the list, then tucked both the glasses and the paper into his coat. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Varric," Anders said, feeling relieved. He hoped that he wouldn't need the recipe he thought he could find in those books. But he needed to be prepared. Just in case.

"You got quiet all of a sudden on me, Blondie. What's the deal?"

"Just deep thoughts."

Varric laughed, sipping his coffee. "Dangerous for your health."

"You have no idea."

The door opened and a city guard came in, looked around, spotted Anders and Varric and strode over quickly. Anders instinctively reached for his staff. Random city guards looking for him was never a good thing.

"Are you Anders?" she asked, looking him over.

"Maybe," he said. "Who wants to know?"

"Hawke said he needs your help. There's a rally in Darktown-"

"Where?" Anders asked, staff in hand as he extricated himself from the bench. He looked to Varric. "Coming?"

"Might as well," Varric agreed.

"I'm not exactly sure where," the guardsman admitted. "The Guard-Captain went with him to address the accusations again her." She shifted uncomfortably, and Anders knew there was more than she was telling him. 

He looked her over a moment. "Fine," he said, when he knew she wasn't about to say anything else.

Anders strode out of the Hanged Man, Varric at his heels. They hurried in silence to Darktown, making inquiries about a rally. A few coins in the right hands and they were pointed in the direction of one of the smaller dockside encampments. As they approached, they heard Aveline's angry yelling.

"That wasn't your place, Hawke!"

Anders exchanged a look with Varric and they quickened their pace, racing down the stairs. The first thing Anders realized was several corpses were still on fire. The smell of ash and sulfur and rotting flesh made him a bit queasy. The second thing was that Hawke was on the ground, both hands bloody and pressed to a wound in his leg. Anders hopped the last two steps and jogged over. It didn't seem to be too bad, despite the blood. Hawke looked up as he approached.

"Oh good, you got my message."

"Hawke!" Aveline snapped.

Anders knelt down, touching his shoulder and gently pulled Hawke's hands away. "What happened?" He winced; a piece of metal about four inches long stuck out from Hawke's calf.

"Well we found out who's been spreading rumors about Aveline," Hawke said, almost nonchalant for a man whose leg was currently impaled. He was turning white very quickly.

"Varric," Anders said, "hold his leg down. I need to remove the shrapnel before I can heal it."

Varric moved to comply, Aveline wisely staying quiet while they dealt with it. Hawke grunted in pain, gritting his teeth, trying not to yell as Anders removed the metal shard. Immediately he peeled back robe and pants leg, healing the wound. Above him, Hawke was breathing heavily, hands flat in the dirt as he tried to ignore the pain.

"There," Anders said, expending a bit more mana than was necessary to not only heal him, but take away the pain as well. He let his fingertips press into the calf muscle, little jolts of blue light emanating from them. Pulling a cloth from his pocket, he started wiping up the blood best he could.

"Thanks for that."

"What happened?" Varric asked, crouching, looking at Hawke.

"He killed Jeven, that's what happened," Aveline said angrily.

"Who?" Anders asked. 

"Former captain of the guard," Hawke said, taking the cloth from Anders, wiping off his hands. He accepted the help to his feet, testing his weight on his leg before reaching down to pick up his staff and sling it across his back. "He was the one spreading lies about Aveline. Jealousy. Also seems to hate Fereldans."

"Who doesn’t in this town?" Varric asked.

"You, for one," Hawke replied.

"Only the useful ones," Varric pointed out, gesturing to Hawke.

Hawke chuckled. Aveline, however, did not find any of this amusing.

"It wasn't your place to kill him! You didn't need to interfere."

The smile faded from Hawke's face. "Oh I didn't? Thank you for letting me know that now, hours after the fact. You told me to come along to check on Donnic's patrol. You were the one who insisted we check with Brennan to see about the complaints. If you didn't want me to fight your battles for you, why even bother? You could've gone to Cullen yourself. I don't mind helping but don't blame me for saving your life or next time I won't bother."

Anders knew he was bluffing. As often as Hawke butted heads with Aveline – and it did seem to be a weekly occurrence – he would always stand by his friends. Up to and including taking hits for them. Anders wanted to remind him that Aveline wore her armor for a reason, and cloth robes enchanted or not, were not exactly made for stopping pieces of shrapnel.

Aveline heaved a sigh. "Just…"

"Are we done?" Hawke asked. "I have other appointments. And I need to go report to the Knight-Captain."

"Very well, Hawke," she said. "But this isn't the end of it."

Anders pulled Hawke away from the carnage, leaving Aveline to handle the inevitable paperwork. "One day it's going to come to blows between you and her," he said gently. 

"Maybe," Hawke agreed. "Think I can take her?"

Varric chuckled. "My money's on the fiery redhead. Her temper alone would have you flat on your back before you could draw the first punch. And there's the fact that she's a girl. You shouldn't hit girls, Hawke."

"Aveline's no more a girl than I'm the Divine herself," Hawke grunted. "How do you think her husband handles it?"

"I suspect he's the type that likes being bossed around in bed," Anders said. "Probably gets off on it. How did they even get together, anyway?"

Varric laughed, recalling. "Hawke, remember that? Walk up the Wounded Coast?"

"Oh that moonlit stroll we took, Varric? That was so romantic."

"You were a horrible date," Varric joked. "Didn't even buy me dinner after."

Anders looked at them both. "I feel I'm missing something."

Hawke shook his head. "I pushed them together. She asked me to give him this… thing. A copper relief of tulips."

"Marigolds," Varric corrected.

"That's it. Anyway. It was a long time ago and made for some very awkward moments. I think at one point Donnic believed I was trying to court him."

"You'd think after a few years together, some of Donnic's lightheartedness would've rubbed off on her," Varric mused.

"She'll always be a stubborn bitch," Hawke said, but there was a fondness in his tone. "I'll write to Cullen in the morning. The Gallows are probably locked up by now and we have to go find Fenris before we meet Sebastian." He looked to Anders. "You're still with me, right?"

Anders nodded. "Of course." He was interested in what this agent of the Divine had to say.

"Varric?"

"Think I'll decline the offer of this next adventure, if you don't mind. But I'm counting on you, Blondie, to remember all the details for me."

"You know I will," Anders assured him.

They parted ways at the Hanged Man, and Anders and Hawke continued up to Hightown.

"Do you think this is all just a set up?" Anders asked.

"If the Divine wanted me dead, she would just have Meredith lock me in the Gallows and make it look like an accident. Or make Meredith give me a job that ended up getting me killed in the end. I doubt she'd send someone all the way from Val Royeaux just to kill me. And to do it in the Keep, that's just messy. It _is_ a possibility," he added. "I know what she probably thinks about me, if reports out of Kirkwall about me are accurate."

"And if this agent doesn't like what she hears? Then what?" Anders felt apprehensive. If the Divine wanted to prevent the rise of another Imperium, if she thought that Hawke's position would cause a mage rebellion, what lengths would she go to stop it from happening? Would she order a preemptive attack on Kirkwall?

"Sebastian doesn't believe she'd march on Kirkwall. Elthina hopes she wouldn't. If it comes to it…"

"Would you stay and submit to the Divine?" Anders asked quietly.

Hawke frowned. "No. But I wouldn't fight, either."

"You wouldn't defend Kirkwall?" Anders was surprised, not expecting this response.

"Qunari and nighttime gangs are one thing," Hawke said. "Soldiers of the Divine filling the streets, along with Meredith's Templars and likely the City Guard? And me as public enemy number one. I think that’s a fight even I would lose."

"So you would run," Anders prompted.

"I would run before I would wait to be arrested or killed," Hawke clarified. "Isabela mentioned plans to get another ship. I'm not much of a sailor but leaving Kirkwall if the Divine brings an Exalted March to the city, I'm not averse to learning on the fly."

Anders frowned. If that happened, would Hawke leave him behind? He hadn't mentioned bringing anyone, not even Varric or Fenris. And Anders still had the underground, the Circle here in Kirkwall to deal with. "But you don't think that will happen."

"I hope it doesn't," Hawke said. "Not exactly the same thing."

"And the issue with Meredith trying to seize control of the city?"

"Trying?" Hawke asked, eyes traveling to a Templar who passed them walking in the opposite direction.

"You have to see it's coming to a head. With Orsino this morning?"

Hawke sighed, running a hand back through his hair. It seemed a nervous tic, something he'd been doing more of late. "She can't make a move yet. Elthina won't throw her support for the mages, but by keeping quiet she lets Meredith get away with her extreme measures."

"And what happens if Orsino tries to incite a rebellion? Leaving the Divine's movements out of this hypothetical situation. It would take weeks, maybe even months before she could organize her soldiers."

"I would do my best to protect the mages in the Circle. Hope to overthrow Meredith."

"And if you failed?"

Hawke scoffed. "Then I'd likely be dead."

"Hypothetically," Anders continued, "if you succeeded."

"Then I suspect the Divine would get wind of it. And I assume she'd be fairly cross."

Anders laughed mirthlessly. "Fairly cross. And sending thousands of soldiers to the Free Marches."

"But by then I'd be long gone."

"Mm." There it was again.

Hawke frowned, touching his wrist. "What?"

"You would leave."

"Well, yes," Hawke said uncertainly. "You wouldn't want to get out of the city if that happened? It would be a death sentence to stay."

"Well yes, I suppose I would." Anders paused as they came to stop at the steps leading up to the Keep's courtyard. He leaned against the dais Orsino had occupied earlier that morning. "You'd want me to come with you?"

Hawke's frown deepened. "What? Of course I would. What would give you the idea that I'd want you anywhere except at my side through all this?"

"I don't know," Anders said quietly. He looked down, focusing on a crack in the stone. A chill wind blew across the square, causing him to shiver. "Just… what if the catalyst were something else?"

_Careful._

He felt a quiet humming, as if Justice was whispering in his ear.

"Anders," Hawke said, taking him by the arms. And when Anders didn't look up, Hawke carefully cupped his chin, bringing his face up to look him in the eye. "I would follow you to the Void."

"I know," Anders said softly. "You're the most important thing in my life," he continued, covering one of Hawke's hands with his own. "But some things mean more than my life."

He didn't elaborate, and wasn't sure how he'd explain it if Hawke asked him to. A part of him thought that maybe Hawke already understood. Hawke knew he placed the plight of the Circle above anything else. But would Hawke understand if that meant drastic measures? That no compromise could be reached? If Meredith would not release her hold, and Orsino was allowing himself to be beaten down, and the Grand Cleric remained silent, that something had to give? Would Hawke understand that Anders' hand would be forced? That he could no longer stand by and listen to increased reports of Templar abuse not only toward mages, but families of mages? Would he understand and accept? Or would he condemn Anders for forcing a catalyst that likely would mean the end of his life?

Hawke kissed him, and Anders relaxed only slightly. He returned it, sighing as he wrapped his arms around Hawke's waist, feeling the cold stone of the dais wall through his coat as Hawke pushed him back. The kiss was slow, unhurried, reassuring. He gripped the fabric of Hawke's robes, tilting his head as Hawke deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue against Anders'. Someone cleared their throat, and Anders groaned quietly when Hawke pulled away. In the moonlight, several feet away, he saw Fenris standing with Sebastian. Fenris had a calculating look upon his face, while Sebastian was shifting, looking anywhere but at Hawke and Anders.

"Wasn't sure how long it would take for you to show up," Hawke said nonchalantly.

"Clearly," Fenris returned. 

"Shall we?" Sebastian suggested, gesturing up the stairs.

Anders followed Hawke up through the courtyard and into the Keep. The last time he was there so late at night, the city was under attack. Years later, the viscount's office was little more a storage room and the throne room was completely off limits. The main hall was redecorated with thick plush wall to wall carpeting covering the stones, hiding the bloodstains. The furniture was updated, several couches on either side of the room and a large painting commemorating Hawke's defeat of the Arishok hung high on the wall. It was only slightly more tasteful than the giant statue in the docks, depicting a helmed figure standing on the disembodied head of a Qunari.

"It's strange," Sebastian said, breaking the silence as they moved down the hall toward the throne room. "Meeting a holy sister here of all places."

"Be wary of an ambush," Fenris said. Obviously the idea had occurred to him as well.

"The Divine would not send a sister of the Chantry to murder Hawke," Sebastian scoffed.

"Wouldn't she?" Hawke asked, as he tried the door to the throne room, frowning as it opened easily. "Be on your guard."

They stepped inside. The room like the rest of the Keep had been cleaned, the carpet changed, the throne removed. But the rest of the furniture remained the same, and Anders remembered the fight as if it were yesterday. Hawke dodging the Arishok's attacks, Hawke losing his footing, the brief few seconds in which he thought he would have to watch Hawke die at the hands of the Qunari. The relief he felt when the Arishok died, and everything that happened after that ultimately led him to this point.

"So!"

With that one word, spoken high above them, the group moved quickly almost as one. Anders and Hawke held their staves at the ready, Fenris had sword in hand and Sebastian's bow was out, arrow nocked. Three mages descended the steps, the woman in the lead looking pleased with herself.

"Even the Divine fears us now. She should." Her hands glowed with a shimmery blue light. "Kill the spies!"

Anders didn't have time to wonder who they were or why they were there, or if they were working for the Divine and this was just an elaborate scheme. The ball of lightning scattered their group and they were swept into a whirlwind battle. He extended a quickly cast haste spell to Fenris and Sebastian as well as Hawke. 

The temperature dropped at once as balls of ice fell from the ceiling, making it difficult to see and caused Fenris to lose his footing as he slipped on a patch that stuck in the carpet. Sebastian's arrow caught one of the mages directly in the chest, felling him almost at once. Fenris rolled out of the way of an oncoming bolt of electricity and leapt to his feet, a diagonal slice relieving another mage of his torso. Anders cast quickly around for Hawke, and saw him dodge two large balls of ice before flicking his palm out, a jolt of lightning shooting from his fingertips and catching the woman on the chest. She fell back, tripping over the steps, and Sebastian took the opportunity to put two arrows through her heart. Her mouth opened, body convulsing slightly from the electricity, and then lay still, eyes open wide, but lifeless.

Anders waited for the ice to stop falling before carefully making his way toward the bodies. Hopefully they could find something on them that would identify them.

"I didn't think the Divine-"Sebastian started, looking a little shaken.

Behind them the sound of footsteps. They turned to see several more mages in similar dress approach, but before any of them could act, there was a small explosion and the throne room filled with dark smoke that caused Anders' eyes to water. He breathed in the pungent fumes, coughing violently, reaching out to grip Hawke's arm though he couldn't see him. Hawke was coughing as well, and behind them, Fenris and Sebastian weren't faring much better. He could hear the sounds of battle, but was unable to act, and hoped desperately whoever had set off the smoke wasn't there for them.

It took a few minutes for the smoke to clear, and Anders waved a hand in front of his face, eyes watering, throat burning. When he could see again, he noticed a red-headed woman crouching by the bodies of the mages, going through their pockets. She stood, turning to look at them.

"My apologies for the subterfuge," she said with a slight Orlesian accent, sounding contrite. "I should have known the Resolutionists would be a part of this."

"Are you Sister Nightingale?" Sebastian asked, coughing a bit.

"I am," she replied, with a curtsy that would've worked had she been wearing a dress and not clad in light leather armor. "Or you may call me Leliana."

Anders frowned. "The Leliana? The one who fought with the Hero of Ferelden to stop the Blight?"

She smiled at him. "I see it will be harder to remain anonymous so close to the Ferelden border." She looked at Hawke. "You must be the Champion," she said, and when he nodded, she continued. "The Divine sent me to investigate the possibility of a rebellion here in Kirkwall."

"You're obviously not with these mages," Sebastian said frowning down at the bodies around them.

"You said the Resolutionists," Hawke prompted. "It would be nice to know who's trying to kill me and why so I can add it to the very long list of enemies I seem to keep acquiring."

"They were not here for you," she said, frowning. "They are an offshoot of a fraternity within the Circle of Magi. There have always been factions that support freedom from the Chantry and the abolition of the Circle. We have… tolerated them."

"Oh how kind of you," Anders snapped, venom dripping from his words. He felt Sebastian and Fenris turn to glare at him but kept his eyes on Leliana, who did not seem affected by his words. "The fraternities don't exist here in Kirkwall. Any mage who doesn't bow and scrape to Meredith has more of a chance of being made Tranquil. So who are these poor sods, then?" he asked, gesturing. 

"You give a lot of leeway for a group of people who tried to kill you," Fenris said.

"But they didn't even know who we were," Hawke argued. He looked to Leliana. "They were trying to kill _you_ ," he said. "Why?"

"The Divine has long suspected that Kirkwall's problems were spurred on by an outside group," Leliana said.

Anders scoffed. "Like any mage with a brain can't come up with, 'Let's rebel!'."

"And unleash demons in the process, proving the Chantry right," Sebastian added. "Mages need to be contained-"

Hawke turned to glare at him. "Say it again," he dared him, and Sebastian fell silent.

"Mages only turn to demons when they're backed into a corner with no other options," Anders said, turning fully to face Sebastian now. "When all they want is freedom."

"I am not here to debate mage rights," Leliana said, interrupting.

"So what are you here to do?" Hawke asked. "Did you set this whole thing up?"

Leliana shrugged. "I let word slip that an agent of the Divine was coming to investigate the mage troubles."

Anders rolled his eyes at that. Of course the Divine would think that Kirkwall's troubles stemmed from mages and not an overzealous Knight-Commander with an inferiority complex.

"It is how the Resolutionists chose to act which condemns them," Leliana finished.

"Will the Divine send soldiers?" Hawke demanded.

There was silence for a moment, and Leliana sighed, shoulders sagging a bit. "Divine Justinia takes the situation here very seriously. She believes it is the worst threat to Thedas since the Qunari invaded."

Surprisingly, it was Sebastian who spoke up. "Do you mean Hawke as Champion of the city? Or even a handful of apostates? How can that possibly – "

"The whole world is watching Kirkwall," Leliana said earnestly. "If it falls to magic, none of us are safe."

"None of you," Anders muttered, then more loudly, "Is the Divine even aware of what Meredith is doing?" He tried to keep the desperation from his tone. The injustice of the accusation burned deeply in his chest. "It's the Divine's precious Knight-Commander causing these issues, not the mages! She's ordering raids every night, using extreme force, increasing her use of the Rite of Tranquility on _good_ people! You have to see this abuse!"

Leliana sighed. "I did not come for this."

Hawke frowned. "Does the Divine fear mages getting the wrong idea because of my being made Champion?"

"It is not that simple. But it is part. The fact that you have remained… compliant, though, gives the Divine hope." She turned to look at Sebastian. "Tell Elthina to leave. There is refuge for her at the Grand Cathedral in Orlais. She will not be safe here."

Leliana turned to leave, and Hawke called after her. "Wait! What do you mean she won't be safe-"

But there was another puff of smoke, though it didn't fill the room this time. Once it cleared, Leliana was gone. Anders felt uneasy, and he could tell by the look on Hawke's face that they were thinking the same thing.

"We have to talk to Elthina," Sebastian said at once. "If these mages think they can overthrow the Chantry-"

"They're not trying to _overthrow_ it!" Anders protested. "They don't want to tear down your religion and burn your books. They just want their freedom!"

"Mages are too dangerous. They've proven time and time again," Sebastian countered. "Summoning demons, falling to blood magic, killing innocent people like Hawke's mo-"

The flurry of movement that followed was an eruption of anger. Hawke had lunged for Sebastian, Fenris stepping in quickly to stop the punch. Anders, against his better judgment, grabbed Hawke around the waist. Hawke's fist connected with Fenris's jaw and Sebastian was thrown back and off balance, hitting the floor.

"Hawke!" Anders said, pulling him back the best he could. Hawke was still much physically stronger than he was.

Sebastian got to his feet, pulling Fenris back, though the elf showed no signs of moving to retaliation for the accidental hit.

"Shut up!" Hawke snapped, when Sebastian opened his mouth to speak. "Don't you ever talk about my mother."

"I… I apologize," Sebastian said. "I'm sorry."

Hawke calmed down, though he continued to glare at Sebastian a moment longer before turning to Fenris. "Let me see."

"It is fine," Fenris said flatly.

"No, it's not. You're bleeding."

"Your fists are like iron," Fenris agreed.

"You were stupid for stepping in," Hawke chided him. "Anders, please."

Anders frowned but raised a hand, inches from the elf's slowly swelling cheek. He healed it carefully, then took Hawke's hand and did the same for his knuckles which were bleeding slightly. Then, figuring he'd make a show of being the better man, looked to Sebastian. "Are you all right?"

Sebastian's cheeks turned slightly pink, an odd contrast to his tanned complexion. "I am unhurt," he said tersely. "I need to go to Elthina."

"I'll come with you," Hawke said, stepping carefully over one of the mages. "Someone will have to tell Aveline. Fenris?"

Fenris nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"Be careful. She's a little… volatile. Bad mood all day."

Fenris actually smiled slightly. "When is she not?" he asked, and left for the captain's office.

Sebastian, Hawke, and Anders left the Keep, traveling the distance to the Chantry in silence. Sebastian led the way up to the Grand Cleric's office and knocked, waiting for the faint, "Come in," before pushing the door open.

"Your Grace," he said.

Elthina sat behind her desk, penning a letter. She looked up at them as they entered, eyes flicking from Sebastian to Hawke, then Anders. She gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk. Sebastian sat, but Hawke and Anders remained standing.

"Sister Nightingale says you must leave Kirkwall," Hawke said.

Elthina put her pen down, sitting back, hands folded in her lap. "Do explain."

"You were right it seems," Sebastian said. "The Divine will be taking action against Kirkwall, though the sister didn't say what exactly." He frowned, leaning forward, resting his hand on her desk. "You must take the holy relics from the chantry and leave for safety. I'll come with you and offer you what protection I can. I'm sure the Knight-Commander can spare a few Templars for the journey as well."

"Sebastian, I'm surprised at you," Elthina said in a lightly scolding tone. "Andraste would not thank me for saving a few dusty finger bones and my own skin at the cost of people's lives."

"Finger bones?" Hawke asked, eyebrow raised.

Sebastian turned to look up at him. "The Kirkwall Chantry has guarded the remains of the martyr Deverina for eight hundred years. They must be protected."

Anders had never heard of this martyr. From Hawke's expression, neither had he. But Elthina was speaking again.

"When I became grand cleric, I took a vow to the people of Kirkwall and the Free Marches. I will not leave my flock."

"Would you let yourself die?" Sebastian asked, concerned, turning back to her.

Elthina smiled, and Anders found himself hating that calm look. She seemed so content to do nothing.

"'There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no better death than to take the blow for another.'"

"You have the information," Hawke said sharply. "Do with it what you will."

Sebastian gaped at him. "Hawke, you can't mean-"

"If she wants to stay, what are you going to do, Sebastian? Drag her to Val Royeaux?"

"I would think not," Elthina said, turning that smile to Hawke. "Thank you for your time, Champion."

Hawke took it as a dismissal, turned and took Anders by the arm and pulled him out. They heard the continuing argument from Sebastian as they descended the stairs and left.

"What do you think Leliana meant?" Anders asked once they were outside.

"I don't know," Hawke admitted. "It's ominous. Hopefully Leliana reports what she heard and saw, rather than what the Divine wants to hear. Or it could just be a tactic to get the Grand Cleric out of Kirkwall so the Divine can claim ignorance when Meredith finally goes for her final grab of power."

"Do you believe that?"

"If Elthina was gone? Yes. Meredith would jump at the chance. She'd be the ultimate power in Kirkwall with no opposition. Elthina might follow the Chantry when it comes to mage oppression, but she's standing in Meredith's way. Removing her would allow Meredith to… do whatever it is she's been wanting to do for years. Remove Orsino for one."

"The Right of Annulment," Anders said, feeling a sharp pain in his chest as he spoke the words. He'd spoken with Justice about both that and the Rite of Tranquility before they merged. It was painful to recall their conversation, and Justice threatened now to take over as a sort of despair crept up into Anders' brain. "She would call for the Right of Annulment."

He'd slowed in his walking, and Hawke took his hand, entwining their fingers. They stopped, and Hawke looked at him intensely.

"Then we fight."

"But would the others?" Anders asked. "Would Orsino? Would you fight your brother? To the death?"

"I remember something you said to me years ago," Hawke replied. "You would drown us in blood to keep me safe. Do you remember that?"

Anders ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. He'd been desperate then, needing Hawke to understand how deeply he felt for him. "Yes."

"Then I say the same to you now. Carver is my brother. I have no wish to see him dead, but he chose his side. He made his choice. I may have a house, coin and status here in Kirkwall, but you are my family. My home is with you, Anders."

Anders rested his forehead against Hawke's, calming in his embrace. A guardsman moved quickly past, saying nothing despite the lateness of the hour. Anders let out a breath. "I need you to trust me, then."

"I do. Implicitly. With my life."

"And I trust you with mine. And my heart."

Hawke kissed his forehead and tugged him toward home. "A hot bath and some sleep."

Anders followed him. He knew Hawke loved him, trusted him. But he knew he couldn't ask Hawke to make the decision that Anders ultimately would have to make. Meredith's hand would have to be forced, and she would need to be removed one way or another. The only question now was how.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders lay back, breathing heavily, skin slick with sweat. He laughed shakily as Hawke collapsed next to him, winced, then flipped to his stomach.

"Sore?" Anders teased.

Hawke grunted. "I don't know why I bother with any exercise," he muttered, draping an arm over Anders' stomach. "I always get such a work out with you."

Anders preened in the afterglow, stretching widely. He was exhausted and sore, but it was a good kind of tired after what happened the previous day. They'd returned home after a long evening of consoling Merrill, dragging themselves back late from the alienage. They woke late in the morning, and neither had been ready to leave the bed right away. 

The trek up Sundermount had taken half the day, Anders begging her the entire way not to summon a demon, no matter how much she thought it would help her with the mirror. Merrill swore the mirror was the key to unlocking part of the Dalish history, that it held so many secrets. The demon would aid her, as it had before. Hawke agreed to come, if only to get Keeper Marethari to try to talk some sense into her. But Merrill was dead set on repairing the mirror and Hawke made the gruesome promise that he would strike her down if the demon possessed her after she released him. But the plan had gone horribly wrong.

Anders tried not to think about how Marethari explained how she'd trapped the demon, using herself as the cage. It was a testament to her power that she was able to hold on long enough to explain to Merrill why she'd done it. That the demon always planned to use the mirror to escape into this world and take Merrill for its first victim. Marethari had sacrificed herself for Merrill, and it took everything they had to destroy the demon. In the end, it was only Marethari's skin that the demon wore, trying one last time to trick them into believing the danger had passed. Hawke had handed Merrill his dagger, and the deed was over quickly. Anders recalled his own harsh words.

_"The world is poorer for having you in it instead of her."_

He'd said it in anger, but he'd meant it. Marethari's sacrifice was the ultimate one, the one Elthina talked about. Laying one's life at the feet of the Maker, taking the blow for someone else. Marethari had done that for Merrill, and Anders wanted to leave her crying in the cave, disgusted at her blindness. He swore to himself then and there that if push came to shove, he would be ready and willing to do the same thing for the mages. He would give his life to see the Circle dissolved. Hawke had been the one to pull Merrill to her feet. Hawke had been the one to explain to the Dalish hunters what happened and promise them that she wouldn't hurt anyone else with her blood magic. The elves all but spat on Merrill as they left, Hawke keeping a hand around her shaking shoulders, leading her away. Anders desperately wanted to go home, but he wouldn't leave Hawke, and Hawke wouldn't leave Merrill. Hours later, when she'd finally stopped crying and settled down to sleep, they left for home.

And then in the light of the morning, neither felt like talking about the darkness they'd experienced. Hawke woke up first, kissing Anders to consciousness and they'd ended up making love twice before Hawke stated he needed to report to Meredith, and Anders coaxed him back for one last round. As a result, it was nearly noon when they heard the scratching at the door. Filet barked at them, then whined.

"For as smart as he is," Anders said, catching his breath finally, "you'd think he'd know how to open a door."

"Mabari don't have opposable thumbs," Hawke said. "For that matter, neither do kittens. Hello, Whiskers," he cooed, scooping the kitten up off the floor and plopping her on the pillow.

Anders groaned, sitting up. "You could at least call her by her proper name. 'Whiskers' is ridiculous. It's like name a child, 'Nosehairs'."

Hawke laughed. "Her full name isn't much better."

"I _like_ Duchess Whiskers of Purrthering."

He'd picked it because Hawke insisted on calling her Whiskers. And if she was going to have a stupid name like that, Anders would give her a proper title. Hawke argued that there were no Duchesses in Lothering, and Anders countered with the fact that no one lived in Lothering anymore so no one could really debate the point. In the end, they alternated between calling her 'Duchess' and 'Whiskers' and the kitten didn't seem to care as long as she received lots of cuddling and milk. Filet for his part, immediately adopted her and they could be seen roaming the estate together, the kitten atop his back like an actual Duchess riding a horse.

Anders scratched Duchess between the ears, sitting up and pulling on a dressing gown before opening the door to let the dog out. "Breakfast?" he asked Hawke, who'd finally settled on his back and was petting Duchess who'd curled up on his chest.

"No. I have to see Meredith. She sent a letter yesterday while we were out. It's probably best not to put it off any longer."

Anders returned to Hawke's side of the bed, leaning down to kiss him, and healed the marks he'd made. With a smirk, he removed the soreness as well. "Best not to be limping when you go see her."

Hawke made a face. "Not that she would ask why. But if she did, you can bet I would tell her. With all the details." He reached up, sliding a hand between the opening in Anders' dressing gown, finding his thigh, squeezing.

"All of them?" Anders asked, eyebrows raised.

"I would tell her how you fuck like a man possessed-"

"Not entirely untrue," Anders interrupted, and yelped when Hawke pinched him.

Hawke grinned. "What are you doing today?"

"I asked Varric about some books I didn't see in the library. I thought I'd go visit him. Stop," Anders said, backing away, gripping his hand which was traveling very slowly upward. "Or you'll have Templars knocking at your door, dragging you down to the Gallows to talk to Meredith."

"Do you think they'd take me naked or let me dress first?" Hawke mused. He winced as Duchess stretched and caught him with little pinprick claws before tumbling onto the bed and burrowing under the sheets.

"Naked," Anders said. "And while I wouldn't mind the whole of Kirkwall getting an eyeful, I still might become horribly jealous." He walked again to the door. "I'm going to have a bath before I see Varric. Are you going to join me or should I send Orana with a basin?"

Hawke waved at him indifferently. "Basin, I suppose. If I follow you to the bath, I might as well put Meredith off for another day."

Anders smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "I love you, Garrett."

Hawke, who'd been in the process of sitting up, glanced over. Anders rarely used his first name, despite years of Hawke trying to get him to do so. "I love you, too," he said, pleased.

Anders' smile widened, and he left to give instructions to Orana. After a much needed and sorely welcomed hot soak, he dressed and left for the Hanged Man to find Varric and breakfast. Unfortunately Varric wasn't alone, but waved him into his suite anyway. Fenris was there, and scowling at him, which was far friendlier than his usual greeting of some insult followed by the word, 'mage.' Anders tried to force a smile, ended up grimacing, and merely shook his head.

"Here you go, Blondie," Varric said, pulling two books from a crate. He set them on the table and pushed them toward Anders.

"That was fast," Anders said, impressed. He took up the first, recognizing the title, but frowned as he flipped through the pages. "Are they both in Tevene?"

"You wanted them. You didn't say you wanted a translated copy. That might take longer to figure out."

"No, I can find a translation dictionary. I'm sure Hawke has one that covers most languages."

Fenris scowled. "A Tevinter book of magic?" he asked, looking down at them.

Anders quickly shut the book and took both of them up defensively. Then he realized that Fenris likely couldn't read them anyway, Hawke having only taught him the common tongue. "None of your business."

Fenris started to say something else, but Varric cut in. "And regarding your request," he said, and slid an envelope to him. "Do you need any help…" he asked, trailing off, gesturing to it, obviously not wanting to offend.

Fenris grabbed the envelope. "No, that will not be necessary. Thank you for your discretion, Varric," he said, and left quickly.

"What's that about?" Anders asked airily. 

Varric settled down, gesturing for Anders to do the same. "I keep your secrets just like I keep the elf's," he said. "Don't ask questions you know I can't answer."

Anders decided that was fair, though it didn't stop him from wondering what Fenris could possibly need from Varric. In truth he tried not to think too much about the elf. Despite being forced to work together with him over the years, suffering him at dinners and holiday gatherings, they'd reached little more than ability to agree to disagree. Anders knew Fenris was waiting on him to lose control again, perhaps to use it an excuse to strike him down.

"Speaking of secrets," Varric asked, tapping the books that Anders had placed down once more. "Did you want to tell me why you needed them?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh fine, have it your way. Lunch?"

"Breakfast for me," Anders amended. "But whatever you're having."

Varric raised an eyebrow, but ordered for them both when Edwina came up to take his lunch request. "Late morning?"

Anders told him the story of Merrill and the mirror, watching Varric scribble down details to flesh out later. "So we slept in."

"Mmhm," Varric said, with a knowing look.

"You'll leave _that_ part out," Anders ordered.

Varric laughed. "You know, I never thought Hawke would finally settle down. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't see him as the type. Nothing against you, of course."

"Oh of course," Anders said, making a face at him. "So grateful for your support, Varric."

"Hey, no offense meant. Hawke just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to buy a house and get married and start a family."

Anders felt his face flush. "We're not married, Varric."

"No. Well, you might as well be, considering."

"And we're not starting a family. If you didn't notice, we don't have the right… bits."

"So he got you a kitten instead."

"I really wish he hadn't told you about that."

"It's going in the story, Blondie."

"Make sure you get her name right. It's Duchess Whiskers of Purrthering. Write it down!" Anders ordered, tapping the paper.

Varric laughed and humored him. Edwina delivered lunch and they ate, conversing lightly over the next hour when Hawke came in, covered in blood. Anders immediately went to him, but he was fine.

"It's not mine," he assured him. "I'm not hurt."

"Maker's breath, Hawke, what the hell happened?" Varric asked, handing him a towel and gesturing to the wash basin.

Hawke pulled off his robes and rolled up the sleeves to his tunic, washing his face and hands. He had a few burn marks on his arms that Anders insisted on healing.

"Abomination in the sewers."

"You went alone?" Anders asked.

"Before you yell at me-" Hawke started.

"You went alone!" Anders shouted, exasperated. "Did you know there was an abomination?"

"A little bit?" Hawke tried, wincing.

For a man who was usually rather fearsome, Hawke hated to incur Anders' wrath. He seized his hands, trying to calm him, as Anders felt his anger grow tenfold.

"You didn't stop to think that maybe fighting on your own would get you hurt or killed?"

"Yes, but I'm okay, and that's the important part."

"Ah, young love," Varric said, gently reminding them both that he was still in the room.

Anders scowled and took the towel, wrenching his hands from Hawke's, and carefully washed the blood from his face. "So what happened?"

"Her name was Evelina. She was Fereldan, escaping the Blight." He shook his head.

Varric poured him a glass of wine. "Here. Sit."

Anders guided him to the table and Varric tossed Hawke's robes into a laundry pile.

"Meredith gave me the assignment to track down three apostates that escaped the Circle. It's… not normally a job she'd give me and not normally one I'd take. I told her in no uncertain terms what she could do with her orders and she not so gently suggested that if I didn't want to help protect the city, I might as well get comfortable in the Gallows."

Anders frowned. "We always knew Meredith wasn't above blackmail."

Hawke looked at him with a 'you have no idea' expression. "So I took the job. Her assistant said Meredith believed them to be all blood mages."

"Meredith sees blood mages everywhere she turns," Anders scoffed.

"Now you see why I went after Evelina on my own. She ran from the Blight, picking up orphaned children. Got them to Kirkwall. And when she got here, she went to the Circle for help. She never wanted to escape the Circle in Ferelden, just the Blight."

"And when she presented herself, they treated her like the criminal the Chantry believes all mages to be," Anders guessed.

Hawke tapped his own nose before taking a sip of wine. "She escaped to help the children and Templars pursued her. I saw a couple bodies down there."

"Good," Anders said with a fierce righteous indignation. "At least she took a few of them out with her. What about the kids?"

"I gave them enough money so they could get food and new clothes and suggested Lirene's place."

"She'll take care of them," Anders said confidently. "She'll make sure they have what they need."

Hawke nodded, still looking a bit shaken. "But there are two more."

"I'll go with you."

"I was going to go to the alienage next. The other's an elf named Huon who has a wife there. I'm sure the Templars have already questioned her but maybe we can get more information." He looked to Varric. "Do you have a coat I can borrow? That might fit," he added.

Varric walked to his wardrobe and opened the doors. "Not mine, but Donnic left one here the other day. Might be a bit broad in the shoulders." He tossed a light brown leather coat to Hawke, who caught it and tugged it on. "I'll have Edwina try to get that blood out."

"If she can't, just send it up to the house. Orana's gotten good at removing the stains."

"You owe that girl a raise," Varric noted.

Hawke let out a laugh. "Don't I know it. Ready?" he asked Anders, who nodded.

They said their goodbyes to Varric and left. Halfway to the alienage, Anders realized he'd left his books in Varric's suite.

"Oh damn," he muttered, hesitating.

"Something wrong?" Hawke asked, concerned.

Anders shook his head. "I can go back later for them. I had Varric track down a few tomes for me."

"I'm sure he'll send them up," Hawke assured him.

Anders nodded and they continued down to the alienage. Humans in the midst would normally receive glares from the inhabitants, but Hawke had done several good deeds and they recognized him as a friend. A merchant waved Hawke over, grinning broadly.

"Elren," Hawke said, shaking his hand.

"Champion. We haven't talked lately. Did you come by to look at my wares? Special discount for you, serah."

Hawke shook his head. "I'm looking for a woman named Nyssa."

Elren frowned. "The Templars just left her this morning. Bruised her pretty badly." He nodded across the square. "Are you looking into it?"

Anders followed his eye line to a stall perpendicular from Merrill's door. The woman in question was slight, even for an elf, sporting a black and swollen eye. He frowned, feeling Justice's rage and his own starting to rise.

"I am. I'll handle it," Hawke assured him. "Thanks. And your daughter?"

"Didn't you hear?" Elren said, puffing his chest out proudly. "Lia's joined the City Guard. Said you were her hero after what you did for her all those years ago."

Hawke shrugged modestly. "Give her my best."

"Of course. And if you ever need anything, you know where to find me, Champion."

They shook hands again and Anders followed Hawke across the square.

"You saved his daughter?"

"A little after you and I met," Hawke said. "Crazed lunatic hearing voices telling him to kill children. Magistrate wasn't too happy but I played it off as an accident. Fenris was happy to do it and I was happy to let him. No marks on the body, they called it a heart attack and I wasn't arrested. Neat and tidy."

"He… killed children."

"And he won't anymore," Hawke growled.

"Oh," the elven woman said as she saw them approach. "Greetings, messeres. My mistress is away seeing to a customer, but she will be back shortly. Did you have need of a dress?"

Anders snorted. "Hawke, you would look lovely in a dark green one," he couldn't help himself from saying.

Hawke scowled, tossing him a look before turning back to her. "Are you Nyssa?"

Nyssa frowned. "I am."

"May I…" Anders trailed off, pointing at his own eye. "I'm a mage, I can heal that."

Nyssa's unmarred eye widened. "You shouldn't say that too loudly here, messere! The Templars have already come by this morning once."

Hawke held up a hand. "It's okay. Anders is a healer. I'm Hawke."

"The Champion?" she asked, reverence in her voice. "I… I didn't recognize you. I'm sorry!"

"Don't be. I rather miss the anonymity. Please, let us help."

Nyssa chewed her lip nervously but nodded, and Anders brought a hand gently to her face, healing it easily. She blinked and touched her cheek, no longer bruised and swollen.

"Oh, thank you," she said. "Thank you. If you ever need anything, I'll make sure my mistress gives a discount."

"I'm telling you," Anders said, nudging Hawke. "The dark green will match your eyes."

Hawke rolled said eyes before addressing Nyssa again. "The Templars were asking about Huon."

Nyssa nodded. "When they came, I told them the truth. I hadn't seen Huon in ten years. But after they left… he came to me," she admitted, leaning against the stall's wooden support beam, crossing her arms. "He wanted me to hide him. I used to dream of him returning. But not like this," she said, looking down. "He's changed. I… I don't know him anymore. So I sent him away. He's not my Huon, and I know what they do to people who harbor apostates. I've seen the Templars-" Her voice caught and she broke off.

Anders clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The elves suffered more than most, and especially in the last few years. Many of them had turned to the Qun, fighting with the Qunari when the battle broke out. Most of them died. Those that didn't were arrested, likely still imprisoned. And the Templars constant raids were doubled in the alienage. No one cared when Lowtown residents went missing, and they cared even less when it was an elf.

"Did you see him use any magic at all?" Hawke prompted. "Specifically blood magic? If I could find him, bring him back to the Circle…"

"I don't think so," she said. "At least, I'm pretty sure he didn't use a spell on me. He was going on about showing everyone the true power of the elves. He scared me."

"Do you know where he might have gone?"

Nyssa shook her head. "After I sent him away, he disappeared. But…" She looked around, worried.

"Please," Anders said gently. "You could save a lot of lives if you have any idea where we could find him, if he's dangerous. We're his best hope to be brought in alive." _Or to be given aid to move to another city,_ he thought.

"He said he would return to take me away from this forever," she said, but she didn't sound hopeful, her voice shaking.

"When?"

"He said he'd come by tonight. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Anders touched Hawke's arm, but Hawke didn't need any prodding. "Then we'll return tonight before he comes back and keep you safe. Would that be all right?"

She looked up at both of them, eyes wide and hopeful. "I… I would be grateful," she said, almost breathless, moving to stand in front of them. "You'd do that?"

"Of course."

"And you'll arrest him? I think he needs help."

"We'll make sure he never hurts anyone," Hawke promised.

"Thank you, messere," she said, clasping her hands together in front of her.

Hawke nodded and he and Anders left the alienage.

"One more stop," Hawke said. "Dulci de Launcet in Hightown."

"Are you really going to force Huon back into the Circle?" Anders asked.

"I promised Meredith I would bring back the dangerous apostates. If Huon isn't dangerous…" he trailed off with a shrug. "I'll bring some extra coin and a warm cloak just in case."

Anders smiled, feeling pleased. He never should have doubted Hawke. They climbed the steps and rounded the alleys out of Lowtown and made their way to the de Launcet mansion which boasted an awfully large courtyard with an impressive garden. It was easily three times the size of Hawke's estate.

"My mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet," Hawke said. "Before she ran off with my father. He came to a few of our get-togethers. Pushed his daughter Babbette at me a few times. Let's hope this isn't awkward."

He knocked on the door and they waited a moment before a butler in a hideous bright orange doublet answered.

"Yes?" he asked, nose in the air. With one word he'd seemed to deem them completely unworthy of licking his boots, though Anders could attribute that to the heavy Orlesian accent.

"I'm here to see the Comtess de Launcet," Hawke said. "It's about her son, Emile."

The butler stood aside and gestured them in. Hawke pursed his lips and strode in, Anders right behind him. The butler pointed to where they were already standing.

"You will wait here," he instructed, and turned with precision before leaving the room.

Hawke faked an Orlesian accent. "You Fereldans will muck up ze carpet wis your filsiness, ahuh," he muttered.

Anders turned, covering a laugh with the back of his hand and only managed to regain a straight face when the butler returned a moment later.

"The Comtess de Launcet," he said, bowing her into the room.

Dulci de Launcet would have been a pretty woman had she not been caked in rouge and heavy eye makeup. She smelled as if she bathed in perfume and Anders wrinkled his nose to keep from sneezing. Hawke seemed unaffected as she strode forward.

"Good afternoon, Comtess," he said, taking her offered hand, bending at the waist and kissing her knuckles gently.

Their weeks in Orlais was good for something, Anders thought, glad when he wasn't forced to duplicate the greeting.

"Oh the Champion of Kirkwall," she gushed, her accent making Hawke's title sound like, 'Sham-peen.' "This is marvelous! You honor this household!"

Anders forced himself to look at her ridiculous hair-dye job – no one had natural hair that color orange, did they? – and tried not to roll his eyes.

She indicated the lounge, turning to guide them through. Hawke quickly smacked Anders on the arm.

"What?" Anders hissed innocently.

"Stop it," Hawke admonished lightly.

Anders suppressed a smirk, making a mental note to tell Varric all the details of this trip, and followed Hawke into the lounge.

"I will call for refreshments," Dulci was saying. "Talia!" she shrieked, causing Anders to wince. Silence for a moment, then Dulci heaved a dramatic sigh. "She is so slow, this girl. Come, let us chat while we wait."

She moved to a fainting couch, sitting elegantly, arranging her skirts and gestured to a love seat. Hawke sat, pulling Anders down beside him.

"It has been so long since we have seen you," she said carefully. "When you declined to come for our last soiree, we thought perhaps we had done something to offend you, Champion! You know your…" She paused, looking at Anders for a moment. "Consort is always welcome in our home as well."

Hawke placed a hand on Anders' knee, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it. "Your hospitality is legendary, Comtess, thank you."

"Hospitality? Oh no, this is a disgrace. If you had sent a message to say you were coming!"

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call. I'm on official business from the Knight-Commander. It's about your son, Emile."

Dulci heaved another sigh, and Anders noticed how her corset seemed to tighten, her breasts heaving with the effort. He tried not to stare, but it was quite obvious that the dress, though modest as far as showing off skin, was meant to entice. "I haven't seen Emile since he was taken to the Circle. He was just six. The Templars came by earlier this morning to ask. You can tell them I'm sure Emile will turn himself in soon. He is a good boy."

Anders noticed that Dulci didn't have a swelling bruise on _her_ face.

The front door slammed shut. "Dulci!" a man's sharp voice came from the doorway. "What have you done? You should have told the boy to throw himself at the mercy of the Templars!"

"Guillame! Darling…" Dulci said, worried eyes flicking from the doorway to Hawke, who'd turned to see what the commotion was.

Anders recognized the man. Guillame de Launcet wasn't as painted as his wife, but his skin was freshly powdered, his blond hair perfectly coiffed, and his purple and pink doublet was made from Orlesian silk that shimmered as he walked.

"Don't 'darling' me, Dulci. He's been telling people he's our son! That you gave him gold!" He came to stop in front of Dulci, chest heaving.

"Guillame. Darling," she said again, inclining her head toward Hawke and Anders. "We have guests."

Guillame turned, huffing, eyes widening as he saw them.

Hawke smirked, leaning back, crossing a leg over his knee. "Don't stop on my account. This is fascinating. Do go on."

Dulci's face turned a bright shade of red, embarrassed at having been caught in a lie. "Oh, Champion! You should have seen his face when he came to me, begging for help. How could I have turned him away? My heart, it was breaking for him."

Anders found he couldn't be too upset with her. Whatever Dulci de Launcet was, she was a mother, and it did seem to pain her to learn of her son's fate. If she'd given him money to try for a better life, then he could hardly fault her for that.

"I think you should tell me everything," Hawke said, with a slightly more sympathetic tone. "I'm your boy's best chance for mercy from the Templars."

Dulci's eyes filled with tears. "Oh my poor boy! Of course I helped him. I gave him money."

"Dulci," Guillame said, sitting next to her, arm around her shoulders.

Dulci continued to sob, a bit dramatically Anders thought. 

Guillame looked up at them. "He's been hopping around the Lowtown taverns, getting drunk on cheap wine. It's a wonder the Templars haven't found him yet. Can you help Emile, Champion? Make sure they do not hurt him? He's not a blood mage, just a foolish boy."

"Blood mage!" Dulci cried in the same shrill tone. "Oh Guillame, do not say such things!"

He drew her to her feet and Hawke stood as well, bringing Anders up with him. Guillame looked at them both imploringly.

"Please, Champion. I beg you."

Maker, were all Orlesians so dramatic? Yes. Yes, they were, Anders already knew the answer. He watched Hawke shake Guillame's free hand.

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to bring your boy back alive."

Dulci let out a fresh wail, sobbing into her husband's shoulder.

"An acquaintance of mine saw Emile last in the Hanged Man," he said. "He may still be there."

"Oh! The Hanged Man!" Dulci gasped in despair. "Oh that place is so filthy!" She went weak at the knees and Guillame caught her.

"If you could show yourself out, Champion. I need to get my wife to bed. Thank you so much for helping us."

Anders watched Guillame pull his hysterical wife from the lounge and then followed Hawke out. "I think perhaps he would've been happier marrying your mother," he said.

"Either that or my mother would've ended up like Dulci," Hawke replied, making a face.

"Never. She was far too practical and down to earth." Hawke smiled, and Anders could tell he was quite pleased with the assessment. "So, back to the Hanged Man?" he asked, looking up at the slowly darkening sky.

"I think Emile will be fine for a bit. We should return to Nyssa and wait. Right now, Huon seems the bigger threat. If the Templars haven't found Emile yet, with his lack of effort to disguise himself, chances are they won't anytime soon. And it's far less likely they'll manhandle a noble's boy."

It was true, Anders thought, remembering Nyssa's bruised face and Dulci's perfectly painted one. His only motivation for finding Emile would be to encourage him into hiding, but it seemed the boy was in no present danger. And Nyssa was obviously frightened. Had Huon fallen to blood magic? It was a likely possibility. They hurried to the alienage where the shops were closed up already, the square nearly empty now.

"You're here," Nyssa said from behind them. "You came."

Hawke and Anders turned.

"Of course," Hawke said, approaching.

"I didn't think…"

Anders felt a sudden shift in the air, the pull of the Fade. Hawke felt it as well, turning quickly. Across the square, an elf stood near the stairs, staff in hand. The few elves that were left in the square quickly dropped what they were holding and ran for cover, doors clanging shut as the wind began to pick up. Nyssa's arms went limp and her legs started to move on their own accord, shambling slowly toward the elf mage.

"Nyssa!" Hawke said, grabbing her arm.

She took hold of him with her free hand and flung him away as if he was nothing. Huon laughed, a deep, foreboding sound as Anders ran to help Hawke to his feet. He cast a shielding spell on himself and Hawke and tried to on Nyssa as well, but it wouldn't take. Huon had her completely in his thrall.

"My love," he said. "Don't be afraid. Your blood will bring new life to our people."

"NO!" Hawke bellowed as Huon drew a knife. 

He tried to cast a spell to petrify Huon, but the rock merely crumbled around him. Anders couldn't see the blade as Huon plunged it into his wife's stomach, but Nyssa lurched back and her blood dripped on to the tan stone of the alienage's ground. Huon jerked back violently, shoving Nyssa away. She staggered, hands pressed to the wound in her stomach before she felt to her knees, then toppled over. Anders immediately tried to heal her, but both he and his spells were repulsed as her blood was drawn into the air. It swirled in a circle around Huon and two shades pulled themselves from the ground, Huon laughing as they began their attack.

Anders backed up slowly, casting a spirit bolt that caught the shade in the chest, unable to focus on Hawke while he was being pressed back. A clang behind him, a door opening. A shouting in elven and suddenly Merrill was behind him, helping him fight the shade. He never thought he'd be so grateful to see her as she seemed to slow time itself, the shade moving now as it was made of sludge.

"I've got this one!" she called. "The others!"

Anders looked up to see two more shades rising from the ground, moving forward quickly toward Hawke in order to surround him. Hawke raised a hand, pressing fingertips to forehead and a force wave of energy knocked the shades back, giving Anders enough time and room to pull down a bolt of lightning, hitting one before it raced to the next, sizzling them both.

"Concentrate on Huon if you can!" Anders called, drawing the shades away from Hawke, back toward himself and Merrill, who'd managed to destroy the first.

Hawke turned away from them both, and Anders concentrated on the three in front of him. Two were on fire, and he breathed a bit more magic into the spectral flames. The shades shrieked and writhed, momentarily thrown backward. Merrill brought her palms together, then shoved them outward quickly, two large boulders spinning from her fingertips, materializing from the air. The rocks caught the shades, shoving them back into the vhenadahl tree in the middle of the alienage. They shivered and exploded, leaving an oily burn on the trunk. Anders spun to the last one, a bolt of lightning catching it in its back as it lurched forward at Merrill, causing it to fall like the others.

"Hawke!" Merrill shouted.

Hawke was on one knee, a swirl of blood around him. His staff lay at his side, and he was trying to fight against Huon's power. Anders ran forward but Merrill grabbed him. Anders wrenched his arm around, turning to glare at her.

"If you go, you'll be caught too!" Merrill said. "Stand back!"

Before Anders could argue, Merrill drew her knife and sliced her palm, chanting in elven. Anders saw a flash of red light and was flung aside, landing hard on his back. Dazed, he lifted himself to his elbows, watching as the wind picked up even faster now. Huon's hold faltered, whatever spells he'd cast to keep himself safe falling now. He staggered back. Merrill put a hand forward, palm out. She closed her fist, and Huon gasped, falling to his knees. Merrill's eyes were narrowed, no longer shining and bright and happy. Cracks of red appeared in her skin the way Justice caused Anders' own to shine with blue. Anders felt the pull of the dark magic, recoiling from it as she walked forward, moving predatorily like a panther, dark and sleek. Huon screamed in agony as his blood boiled. Merrill raised her fist, and Huon simply dissipated, dissolving into nothing until he was a dark stain on the ground.

The wind stopped. The alienage fell deathly silent. Anders got to his feet, staggering as he regained his balance, no longer feeling the foul magic in the air. He stumbled to Hawke, who shoved him away, unable to talk but pointing at Nyssa. Anders fell to his knees beside her, examining her wound. Palms alighting with blue light, he concentrated, looking for any sign of life, any little spark. It was there, but faint, deep inside her chest. He focused.

"Come on," he whispered. "Please."

The wound closed easily, the organs repairing under his ministrations. He placed both palms on her chest and sent a small jolt of electricity through her body. It jerked once. He listened, waiting, then did it again. Nyssa coughed, curling onto her side in the fetal position. Anders pulled her close, helping her sit up slowly, and she clung to him. When she opened her eyes, she was crying, and he held onto her, letting her sob into his chest.

"Huon," she whispered, desperately.

Anders felt her, shaking and frail in his arms. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Merrill knelt down next to him. "I've got her," she whispered. "I'll take care of her tonight. Hawke's been hurt."

Anders snapped his head to look around to Hawke, who was sitting up, breathing heavily. He looked again to Merrill. "I… thank you, Merrill. I…"

"Go," Merrill said, taking Nyssa from him.

Anders touched her shoulder, relieved when she smiled softly at him, and went to Hawke. There was a gash across his chest, his tunic torn and three long scratches of blood beneath it. Hawke removed Donnic's coat, which was unharmed, and pulled the tunic off.

"Superficial," he winced, slurring the word as Anders healed him.

Anders cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "You might have a concussion. Hold still." He moved his hands to Hawke's head, pressing a healing light into it, relieving the unnatural pressure he found there. "Going to have to keep an eye on you for a while. There's only so much that can be done for head injuries." Another quick spell took care of the scratches.

"There's a joke in that somewhere but Maker be damned if I know what it is right now," Hawke said, grunting tiredly as Anders pulled him to his feet.

Anders bent down, picking up the slashed tunic and coat. "If you wear it backwards, it'll look fine with the coat," he offered.

Hawke took both before looking to Merrill, who'd helped Nyssa to her feet. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked.

Merrill nodded. "She'll stay with me tonight. We'll have a strong cup of tea and it'll all be fine."

Anders marveled at how confident she sounded. Her voice didn't shake at all, and she seemed much more able.

"Merrill," Hawke said, and Merrill looked up, hand on her door. "Thank you."

"Anything for a friend," she said, with a smile, and led Nyssa into her apartment.

Hawke shivered and pulled on the tunic. The neckline was a bit high with it backward, but once the coat was on, it looked normal enough. Better than walking through the streets with large gashes in the front. Anders picked up both their staves, handing Hawke his and watched as Hawke used it to steady himself.

"Most definitely a concussion," he said, frowning.

"I'll be careful," Hawke assured him.

Anders believed him. Hawke's tone was one of caution, where it wound normally hold amusement at Anders' worry. They walked slowly and someone unsteadily to the Hanged Man. If Emile de Launcet was a blood mage, Anders didn't think they could survive another fight like that. Hawke stumbled a bit to the bar, waving Corff over.

"Emile de Launcet," Hawke said. "He still here?"

Corff nodded to a man in the corner, who was face down, holding a mug. "If he hadn't paid for six of those, I'd have thrown him out already. Bit of a twat, going on about blood magic and how he's going to fuck some girl. Loudly, too."

Hawke sighed, and Anders saw his shoulders slump in relief. "Thanks, Corff," he said, digging in his pocket. He flicked the man a silver coin and pushed himself away from the bar, moving over to the corner.

Anders followed. He looked down at Emile, who despite his young age seemed to have quite the bald patch. And Anders realized he'd been wrong about Dulci's hair, unless Emile dyed his own as well. What was left was as bright orange as his mother's.

"Emile de Launcet," Hawke asked.

Emile's head shot up, and he looked around drunkenly, trying to determine the source of the noise that had said his name. "Hey! How did you know my name?" he asked, his Orlesian accent not quite as strong or as ridiculous as his parents'. "Did Nella tell you? I gave her my Launcet signet ring in exchange for a kiss, and tonight she's going to make me a man."

Hawke and Anders exchanged a look. Boots on the stairs made them turn their heads and Varric raised a hand in greeting. He stopped at the foot, arms crossed, gesturing with his chin at Emile, a curious expression on his face. Hawke shook his head a little, and Varric came over, intrigued.

"Round of drinks on me!" Emile said, raising a hand, but Corff ignored him.

"What's going on?" Varric asked.

"One of the runaway apostates," Hawke sighed.

Varric looked down. Emile had slumped again, bringing the mug to his lips and tried to sip the ale without tipping the cup.

"Him? How in Andraste's flaming pyre haven't the Templars found him? Look at him, he's a mess."

"He's lived in the Circle all his life," Anders said sympathetically. He'd seen mages like this in the Ferelden Circle, ones who were picked up young, who had no idea why they were being taken from their parents. Even he'd had a difficult time adjusting, and even though he was years removed from the Circle, found himself missing the more subtle social cues. There were no classes in the Circle to teach you how to act properly in normal society. "He doesn't know how to function in the real world," he said, frowning. 

"I am Emile," he said, "as you know. And you are…?"

"Feeling very sorry for you," Hawke sighed. "We've been looking for you."

Emile's eyes widened. "Oh buggery! I know what this is about." He tried to stand up, crashed back to his seat, then somehow managed to extricate himself from the bench, nearly falling over. "I'm not a blood mage, all right? I started the rumor because I thought it would make me sound dangerous. And suave," he added.

"Do you have a death wish?" Anders said, moving forward, hand on Emile's shoulder now to steady him. "You grew up in the Circle, you know what Templars do to blood mages!"

"I only told people in the tavern. And only women… I think," he said, wobbling a bit. "You don't understand," he continued, gripping Anders' robe.

Anders could smell his breath and tried to lean away, but Emile only leaned forward further. Anders thought he might get drunk solely from the fumes.

"I've been in the Circle since I was six. Six!" He said, holding up five fingers. Belatedly, he held up his other hand and Anders took the opportunity to move away from him. "For twenty years I was locked up. Never had a real drink."

"You still haven't, judging from this," Varric muttered, inspecting the mug.

"I've never cooked something for myself or… or stood in the rain or kissed a girl!"

Anders snorted, crossing his arms. "The Ferelden Circle was more fun, I guess. Everyone was kissing everyone." He joked to hide his frustration. He had to trust Hawke to do the right thing here. Though Emile wasn't a danger to anyone, he might be a danger to himself. But he was free. Would they really send him back to the Circle? Hawke had already stated he wouldn't, but after dealing with Huon…

"I just wanted to live a little," Emile sighed. He lowered his head. "If you are going to kill me, do it now. I'd rather die drunk."

"Your mother gave you that money so you could start a new life. Not piss it away getting drunk on swill," Hawke snapped.

Anders would have normally hated the sharp tone, but something in Hawke's voice seemed to snap Emile back into sobriety, or at least out of his drunken stupor.

"You… you're right," he said. "I am ashamed of myself. I'll leave tonight. There's a ship I heard leaving Kirkwall. I'll find a way onto it. Thank you, serah."

Hawke stepped aside as Emile walked past him, out the door.

"Is that safe?" Varric asked, eyebrow raised.

"If the Templars haven't found him by now, they likely won't," Hawke said with a sigh. "I need to go home. My head is killing me."

"What happened?" Varric asked, concerned.

"Blood mage. A pretty powerful one," Anders explained. "I'll give you the details in the morning. Varric, my books?"

"Sent them up to the house along with Hawke's robes," Varric assured him. "Go on. Go take care of him, Blondie. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Varric," Anders said, and took Hawke's arm, leading him out. "That," he said, shivering in the cool night air, "was an exceptionally long day. And it'll be an even longer night. I'll mix something up to help you stay awake, at least until I know you're all right."

Hawke leaned against him as they walked. "Anders," he muttered.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm a bit tired of being the Champion, I think."

Anders hugged him close, kissing him on the forehead. "We'll get through this," he promised. "It'll be over soon. One way or another."


	4. Chapter 4

The books were extremely difficult to translate, but Anders had time and patience. It seemed his clinic saw less of the wounded and the sick, but he continued to keep his doors open. Since Varric worked his contacts, the clinic also saw fewer raids, had fewer problems with the Coterie. Because of this, Anders found he had more time to focus on the looming task ahead of him. He skimmed most of the tome, translating two or three sentences before moving on. The books were filled with unsavory magics, blood rituals and demonic summonings. Once Anders found what he was looking for, he had half a mind to burn the books to keep anyone else from getting the information. He'd just stopped at the top of a new chapter that seemed to be what he was looking for when he heard the crunch of boots on sand.

He looked up and moved from behind the screen that kept his desk and cot – largely unused these days – from view. "Hawke," he said, slightly confused. "I thought you were busy today. Didn't Fenris need you for something?"

Hawke smiled, lifting a hand in greeting. "I dropped by on my way to the Gallows for Orsino to ask you a favor," he explained, chuckling as Anders made a face at the First Enchanter's name. "It could be worse. It could be Meredith. Anyway, the favor." He took a breath. "Fenris says his sister's here in Kirkwall. She wants to meet him. Might be a trap. Feel like coming for backup?"

It wasn't fair, Anders thought. Hawke knew how he felt about Fenris, but Hawke also knew he wouldn't pass up a chance to potentially keep Hawke safe from harm. He sighed heavily. "When?"

Hawke grinned widely. "Probably tonight. She sent him a note telling him she'd be in the Hanged Man this week so we might as well go sooner than later."

Anders was resigned to his role in helping Fenris. Not that he thought Hawke should get involved if it meant potentially facing another blood mage. It had been nearly a week since the incident with Huon and the other apostates. Hawke received a letter from Guillame de Launcet thanking him for his assistance. They reported to Meredith the next day, Anders following to keep an eye on Hawke, who seemed to show no other signs of strain from the fight. Meredith had heard about Huon and Evelina, expressing no concern whatsoever over Nyssa and the children. She asked about Emile, and what followed was a terse argument between herself and Hawke. Until Anders spoke up when Meredith tried to dismiss them.

_"So not a single thought given to the fact that you Templars brought all of this upon yourselves?"_

He was sure the rumors about Templars escorting himself and the Champion out of Meredith's office would continue to circulate for quite some time. Orsino had even looked out of his own office to see the commotion, and Hawke continued to spit nails the entire way back to the estate. Anders' anger was quieter, but no less considerable and the rest of the evening was spent trekking the coast for a private cove where they spent the night sparring one another, working off their frustration. Afterward, they'd lit a large bonfire and enjoyed a rather pleasant end to a hellish two days.

"So you came by just to ask that?" Anders said, a part of him hoping for a quick repeat of the end of that night. He glanced out his door; the landing was completely empty.

Hawke shook his head. "Well, not entirely. It's about the books."

"Books?"

"The ones you got from Varric."

"Oh. What about them?" Anders noticed Hawke looked slightly uncomfortable, shifting a bit, hands on his hips. "What's wrong?"

"Fenris seems to think you're going to perform some sort of ritual that'll give you untold amounts of power," Hawke said carefully, his tone clearly indicating that he believed otherwise.

Anders let out a laugh. "Of course he would," he said, settling down on a crate, shrugging a bit. "When has Fenris ever believed I was anything but a ticking time bomb? From the day he met me, he was determined to hate me."

"I know," Hawke said, walking over, kneeling down at Anders' feet. He laid a hand on his knee. "And normally I wouldn't pry…"

Anders sighed, taking Hawke's hand. He couldn't tell Hawke what he was really planning. He trusted him of course, but would Hawke understand? Would Hawke try to stop him? Or worse, would Hawke try to help him? Hawke could still have a future after this. He could still have a life, even if it was without Anders. But Anders knew what his role was. He knew what he had to do. Forcing Meredith's hand was going to be tricky, but necessary. And he hated himself for putting Hawke in what he knew would be an impossible position after.

"I heard about a Tevinter magic that could potentially separate myself from Justice." He hated how easily the lie came to him, and he hated it even more that Hawke seemed to believe him.

"Really?" Hawke asked. "How?"

"The ancient Tevinters were the only ones who ever sought to reverse spirit possession, not just behead the victims." That, at least, wasn't a lie. Anders managed to translate two chapters on the subject, finding it fascinating before moving on to his true goal. "I've only just managed to find something that looks useful."

"You know I'll help you any way I can," Hawke said eagerly, and Anders felt a curl of guilt in his chest. "Just tell me what you need."

"I will when I find it," Anders promised, and returned the kiss as Hawke leaned up. "Mm. It might be dangerous. But it'll be worth the risk."

"I trust you," Hawke said, cupping his cheek, kissing him again.

Anders' smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked down, holding Hawke's other hand. "I knew you'd stand behind me on this. Even if…" He trailed off, frowning.

"What?" Hawke asked, lifting his chin.

"Nothing," Anders assured him, standing. "I'm sure I'll have something to tell you after I read into it a bit further."

"Tonight then. After we help Fenris."

Anders heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, after we help the elf who thinks I'm going to use the knowledge to become a magister and enslave all of Kirkwall and the Free Marches. Won't the Divine just be so pleased to learn she was right the entire time?"

"Not entirely right," Hawke said, taking him around the waist, pulling him close. "She thinks I'm the danger, not you."

And as Hawke kissed him goodbye, Anders wondered what Hawke would say when he realized how right the Divine actually was. He busied himself with translating the chapter, making a list of ingredients and triple checking the instructions for assembly. If even one thing was out of place, if even one thing went wrong… Best not to think about that. He had most of the components in his storage cupboard already, but a few he'd need help collecting.

Loath as he was to actually involve Hawke in the plan, he didn't enjoy the idea of traversing the Bone Pit for drakestone on his own. And the other ingredient, the sela petrae, was less than savory, but visiting the depths of the Kirkwall sewers alone without someone to watch his back was foolish. Isabela might have agreed, but she would ask questions. And he didn't want to drag Varric through that. Fenris would never agree, and he and Aveline weren't on the best of terms. He might ask Merrill but she would tell Hawke, who would be upset to learn that Anders didn't ask him for help. Everyone else he knew wasn't exactly the most capable fighter and he wouldn't feel comfortable putting someone like Lirene or her son at risk.

With a sigh, he tucked the translations into the books and hid them both carefully. He didn't have time to worry about it now, needing to meet Hawke at the Hanged Man to help Fenris. Maker, if that wasn't a bit of cruel irony. Locking his clinic doors, he climbed the path to Lowtown, raising a hand to greet Hawke, who was coming down the opposite path, Fenris in tow. The elf scowled, seeing him.

"So," Anders said, "still believe I'm going to run off to Tevinter to become a magister and enslave everyone?"

"That remains to be seen, mage," Fenris said, though his tone had less bite to it.

Anders could tell he was nervous. He hadn't known all the details of this meeting, but if Fenris had a sister who trying to lure him into a trap, their familial relations weren't exactly the best and this reunion had the potential for disaster.

"It's possible Fenris's old master is back in Kirkwall, so be ready for a fight," Hawke said.

"A fight against a Tevinter magister who'll probably use blood magic and summon demons?" Anders said. "Is it that time of the week again already?"

Hawke smirked and opened the door to the Hanged Man, leading them inside. Fenris stepped forward warily, and Anders remembered the last time he'd been involved with the elf's affairs. Slave hunters who captured him right from his home and dragged him off to torture him. He recalled the gruesome scene easily though it happened years ago. Fenris looked around the half-empty room, eyes landing on a lone elf sitting with her back against the far wall. He swallowed visibly, and slowly crossed the room. Hawke and Anders followed.

The elf looked up, eyes the same color as Fenris's, but with red-orange hair and a sad sort of smile. "It really is you," she said quietly, and glanced back down, her hands folded atop the scrubbed wooden table.

Fenris held himself stiffly. "Varania?" he asked, unsure. "I… remember you. We played in our master's courtyard while Mother worked. You called me…"

"Leto. That's your name," she said in the same quiet tone. She stood, looking at him sadly.

"What's wrong?" Fenris asked. "Why are you-"

But Hawke had grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Heavy footsteps on the stairs, Varania backing away into a corner. The patrons in the tavern seemed to catch on quickly to the impending danger and the room emptied almost at once. Fenris's eyes widened as a man descended the staircase, looking smug behind a grey beard. A half dozen Tevinter soldiers followed.

"Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always."

Beside Anders, Fenris shook slightly. He'd never seen the elf so unnerved, and despite himself, Anders felt a growing rage and anger for the man in front of him. Someone he'd never met, but who represented the very worst of what mages could become. Strong and powerful and eager to enslave and step upon those he considered lesser than himself just for power. As much animosity as he held for Fenris, as much distaste as he had for him, he thought he understood Fenris's fear and anger in that moment.

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto," Varania said sadly.

Fenris turned a furious glare on his sister. "You led him here."

"Now, now, Fenris," the man chuckled. "Don't blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

Fenris stepped back, bumping into Anders as he did so. "I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius! But I won't let you kill me to get them!"

Hawke shouldered in front of Fenris, glaring at Danarius, who was shaking his head.

"Oh how little you know, my pet," he said, turning an eye to Hawke. "So this is your new master, then?" He looked Hawke up and down appraisingly, slowly stroking his beard. "Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive."

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," Hawke snapped.

Danarius sneered. "Do I detect a note of jealousy? It's not surprising. The boy is rather skilled, isn't he?"

Anders shuddered at the implications behind the words, and Fenris growled low in his throat, lyrium markings springing to life. "Shut your mouth, Danarius!"

Danarius heaved a sigh. "The word is "master" and I'll have you saying it again soon enough." He turned to Hawke. "What about it, Champion? You give me my slave and I'll make it worth your while."

"Not a chance," Hawke snarled, gripping his staff.

Anders reacted a split second before Danarius's soldiers, repulsion glyph upon the floor, knocking four of them back. He moved back where he could more easily support Hawke, who had sent several fireballs at Danarius. The magister blocked them easily and, laughing, merely stood back to watch the fight, a shielding spell surrounding him. The soldiers, not having the advantage of magic, fell easily to Fenris's skill and Hawke's spells. Danarius called up an army of shades with a wave of his staff. Anders felt the pull of the Fade as two rage demons bellowed in anger, forming from thin air, their molten skin doubling the temperature in the room. Danarius chanted something in Tevene, and they all converged on Fenris at once.

A shout from the top of the stairs and Anders saw Varric holding Bianca, and Isabela with her twin daggers. They leapt into the fray quickly, and Anders cast a quickening spell on both. A flurry of arrows joined the magic in the air. Anders kept a sharp eye on all his companions, backed into a corner. He saw Varania dive under a table, her eyes wide and watching her brother. Fenris howled in rage as a shade clawed his back, but his armor deflected most of the damage. Varric stayed at the top of the stairs, giving them aerial coverage, and Isabela, naturally quick and aided further by Anders' spell, was just a blur as she easily avoided any attempts the shades made to retaliate.

The ground shook, the wooden boards splitting open, the stone ground cracking beneath their feet. A rage demon howled as Hawke cast a crushing prison spell around it, causing it to explode in a burst of flame. There was only a moment's respite before skeletons began pulling themselves lethargically from the holes in the ground. Fenris beheaded one before it had a chance to emerge fully. Isabela cried out and Anders turned to see one wrap its bony fingers around her boot. It swung its sword clumsily and she raised an arm to block. The sword sliced through her skin and she tugged hard, the hand wrapped around her boot breaking off at the wrist. Anders took aim and shot a globe of blue light from his staff which attached itself to Isabela, lighting her skin with a shimmery glow before being absorbed. The wound healed at once, but she never stopped, spin-kicking the skeleton in the head as it emerged further. A fireball from Hawke exploded in the corner, catching another two and turning them to ash.

Anders pivoted to look as Danarius cried out in Tevene. "His shield is failing!" he called out, alerting the others.

Immediately Varric fired two arrows at Danarius. He ripped them from his chest, laughing, and then disappeared. Anders wondered what kind of spell could allow him to seemingly teleport, as he appeared at the top of the stairs behind Varric. Varric tried to turn, but Danarius sent him tumbling down with a force wave of energy before disappearing again. Anders only had time to lob another ball of healing energy at Varric before he felt the air shift behind him. A hand grabbed his own, forcing him to drop his staff, and a sharp pain shot from his wrist up his arm as Danarius broke it, wrenching it harshly behind his back.

Anders tried to bring the healing energy that would allow him to alleviate the pain and mend the bones, but Danarius had some type of protective ward in place. Anders struggled against the hold, but stopped when a silver blade flashed in front of his eyes. He felt the biting sting of it against his throat and tried to pull back. Danarius laughed in his ear.

"Wait!" Hawke called.

Anders looked across the carnage in the Hanged Man's main room. Tables were upturned, broken or burnt. Streaks of black on the wooden floor from the defeated shades, holes from where the skeletons had emerged. Hawke, Isabela and Varric looking at him, weapons in hand, approaching cautiously. Fenris standing back, sword held at his side, an expression of utter loathing as he glared at Danarius.

"Don't hurt him," Hawke ordered.

"Ah," Danarius said, lips close to Anders' ear. "This one is special to you?" He nuzzled Anders' cheek, and Anders struggled against him. 

The knife pressed further against his throat and he felt a rivulet of blood slide down into the hollow of his neck. He reached up with his free hand, gripping Danarius' wrist, trying to push it away. Hawke took a step closer and Danarius started tugging Anders toward the door.

"Maybe I'll simply take him. An even exchange for Fenris," Danarius said. "I think I am getting the worse end of the deal though, yes? You'll enjoy the little wolf with the markings I gave him. And I'll enjoy this one." Danarius placed a soft kiss just below Anders' ear, against his neck.

Anders felt his skin crawl, the man's aura an anathema to his own. He could feel the demons that Danarius had at his beck and call, the evil he could summon with a simple drop of blood. Anders' blood. He felt Justice stirring deep inside, saw the cracks of blue light in his own hand. There was barely a warning before a bright burst of light followed, and he felt Danarius release him in surprise. Anders blinked, but his body was no longer his own. He was seeing through his own eyes, but it was Justice now who moved him, and he was furious. The pain in his wrist disappeared and the cut on his neck healed as Justice rounded on Danarius.

"You will not have him!" Justice bellowed.

There was a crackle of energy as magic was pulled from the Fade itself. Justice threw Danarius against the wall. His body flew like a rag doll, crumpling as it hit the stone. He was conscious still though, and shaking now.

"What… is this?" Danarius asked, and despite his fear, there was intrigue.

"Elf!" Justice barked, and turned toward Fenris.

Fenris raised his sword, as if Justice were going to reach forward and attack him the same way.

"Elf, this is your decision," Justice said, deep voice booming. "Slavers will not be tolerated. To hold another being captive against his will is a heinous crime."

Hawke took Fenris by the arm and pulled him forward. Justice stepped back. Fenris looked at him warily before turning to Danarius, and fear turned into anger.

"Fenris, my pet," Danarius began, reaching up.

Fenris shoved his hand aside, lyrium brands brighter than ever. Justice's own power pulsed in their presence. Reaching down, Fenris grabbed Danarius by the neck of his robes, hauling him up, lifting him several inches off the ground.

"You are no longer my master," he snarled. He plunged his other hand deep into Danarius's chest, causing the magister's body to convulse. With a sickening _crack_ and a crunch of bone, Fenris ripped the heart from his chest, blood spurting from the wound, covering Fenris's face and chest. He dropped Danarius to the ground, letting the heart fall to the floor next to him with a squelching sound.

Hawke moved past Fenris, who had rounded on Varania now, and reached out, gripping Anders by the arms. "Anders," he breathed, worried.

Shaking, Anders blinked, able to see properly now, no longer held by Justice's sway. He rubbed his forehead, feeling drained. "I'm… it's over," he whispered.

"I had no choice, Leto!" Varania was saying, backing up quickly as Fenris moved toward her.

Hawke turned to look, then faced Anders again. Anders waved Hawke away, and watched from a distance, though he took several steps away from Danarius's mangled body. Hawke stood behind Fenris while Varania quelled, hands up to protect herself.

"Stop calling me that!" Fenris hissed, a note of desperation in his tone.

"He was going to make me his apprentice," Varania continued fearfully. She was on her knees now. "I would have been a magister."

"You sold your own brother out to become a magister?" Fenris demanded.

Anders frowned. Varania was a mage. Fenris was not. For all that he claimed that magic was evil, it seemed his hatred stemmed not from how he was treated as a slave, but that he wasn't a mage like his sister. That he lacked the power she had.

"You have no idea what we went through," Varania protested. "What I've had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance."

"And now you have no chance at all," Fenris snarled, markings coming to light again as he advanced on her.

Varania cast a wide-eyed look to Hawke. "Please! Tell him to stop!"

"Wait!" Hawke said, reaching out, grabbing Fenris by the arm. "Don't kill her."

Fenris whirled on Hawke, glaring. "Why not? She was ready to see me killed." He turned back to Varania, taking another step toward her. "What is she other than just one more tool of the magisters?"

Varania fell back, sliding across the floor, her back against the wall, shaking.

"She's the only family you have," Hawke said quietly. "If you kill her, you'll regret it."

Anders approached now, not for Fenris, but for Hawke. He gently touched his wrist, and Hawke took his hand, squeezing it once before letting him go.

Varric spoke up. "Elf… Fenris," he said gently. "Don't. It won't help. Trust me."

Anders looked at Varric, who was normally so easygoing. Even in a fight, Varric was able to toss one-liners and make jokes through his injuries. Anders knew he was thinking about Bartrand, locked up in a Chantry sanitarium, driven mad by the lyrium idol. Varric was quiet, subdued, and Fenris cast a calculating look at him. There was a silent understanding that passed between them, and Fenris rounded again on Varania, who flinched.

"Get out."

She scrambled to her feet and made for the door, stopping just before it to turn and address Fenris once more. "You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true."

Anders turned to look at her. She was staring at Fenris's back, the elf refusing to turn around to acknowledge what she was saying.

"You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won you used the boon to have Mother and I freed."

Fenris turned around, and while there weren't tears in his eyes, his expression was clearly pained. "Why are you telling me this?" he managed.

Varania narrowed her eyes, glaring. "Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain." She looked at him only a moment longer before turning and leaving the tavern.

Fenris's shoulders slumped and he hung his head. Isabela hopped the bar, abandoned long before, and set down several shot glasses. She reached under the bar and poured them out, slamming one before filling others. Varric moved to join her. Hawke took a step toward Fenris.

"I thought…" Fenris started, looking down at his gauntleted hands, covered in Danarius's blood. "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing left for me to reclaim. I… am alone."

Anders scowled, but Hawke was already speaking. "Magic has nothing to do with this, Fenris," he said patiently.

"No?" Fenris asked, head snapping up to look at him. "Greed for it didn't bring Danarius here? Make my sister betray me?"

"She's just a victim in this as much as you are," Hawke said again, in the same patient tone. "If you're going to blame anything, blame Danarius."

Fenris cast his eyes to the corpse before looking back to Hawke, sighing defeatedly. "What do I have now, Hawke?"

Anders looked back to Isabela and Varric, who were far enough away that they couldn't hear the conversation, and were decidedly happy to stay out of it. He had half a mind to join them, but curiosity kept him in place.

"You have me. You have friends," Hawke replied.

"Yes. A mage as my only friend," Fenris scoffed.

"I'm not your only friend," Hawke said.

"Well it isn't me," Anders intoned, losing patience.

Hawke sighed. "Anders."

But something inside Anders made him refuse to be quiet or sympathetic. "He wants to blame magic for all his problems, I say let him. He doesn't want to see the truth of the matter. Yes, magic _is_ dangerous but it's not magic that caused Danarius to do what he did. It's not magic that causes magisters to enslave people and call upon demons. Not everyone lusts for power. Not all mages fall to demons and abuse their magic like the magisters do!" He held Fenris's gaze, returning the glare. "No one should have go through what you and your sister did but stop blaming magic as the root cause of all your problems!"

Hawke tried again. "Anders-"

"And you stop coddling him! Do you really think that's what he deserves? He's done nothing but deride the plight of mages. For six years I've had to listen to him insult me, insult Justice. He turns a blind eye to what the Templars are doing here, to what Meredith makes _you_ do and yet he claims to be loyal to you! To be your friend! How can you stand it? How can you claim to want to help me when you still stand by his side?" The last word caught in his throat and he shook slightly in anger. Hawke started to say something, but Anders threw up a hand, looking away. Varric and Isabela had stopped mid-drink and watched him as he snatched up his staff and stormed out of the Hanged Man.

The wind blew soft but chilly, bits of papers and random litter swirling around his boots as he walked. Shoving his hands into his coat pocket, he kept his eyes downcast, following a familiar path through Lowtown heading toward his clinic. He heard the door clang open behind him and he wished that Hawke would leave him be for now. He needed peace and quiet to think, to work out his anger and frustration.

"Anders!"

"Leave me alone, Hawke," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Hawke grabbed his arm and Anders pulled away roughly. "I said leave me alone," he repeated, leveling his eyes at Hawke's.

Hawke stared at him, a stunned, hurt expression on his face. "We should talk."

"I don't want to. Go comfort Fenris. I'm sure he needs it more than I do."

"He's upset, he just-"

"And you're _still_ making excuses for him!" Anders said incredulously. "Don't you think I know how upset he is? Don't you think I realize he's terrified? I know what it's like to be locked up, Hawke. I know what it's like to suffer the injustices at the hands of others. To be beaten. Tortured. I was shut up in solitary for a year. A _year_! Can you even begin to-" He broke off with a frustrated cry. "But I don't blame my magic," he continued. "I don't blame the gifts that the Maker gave me, how He created me. I don't curse His name because I know where the blame lies. The Chantry forces us into servitude, rips us from our families and locks us away. The Templars are given free reign over us, to do with us what they will. To force us to submit or threaten to kill us or rape us or turn us Tranquil." He pointed at the door of the Hanged Man. "And he would support them!" He shouted the last, his voice breaking. "Don't you see? He's so blinded by his own situation that he refuses to see the scope of it all. And you just… you just…"

"Anders…"

"Leave me alone, Hawke. Please. If you love me, just let me be."

Hawke's fists clenched. When he spoke, it was quiet, relenting. "All right."

"I'll come to you when I've…" Anders shook his head, sighing. "Good night, Hawke," he said, turning and walking away without so much as a backwards glance.

Part of him didn't want to be alone. That part of him ached to return to Hawke, to take strength from his embrace. But he was too angry with both Hawke and Fenris to do anything but shout at them. And possibly say something he'd regret, at least in Hawke's case. His clinic was cold and dark, but both were welcome for the moment. He placed his staff aside, sitting down heavily on his cot. It would be best if he got used to it again at least for a day or two.

_He sees potential in the elf._

Anders shook his head roughly. He didn't need those thoughts, his or Justice's to fill his brain right now. He wanted to hate Fenris in peace. He wanted to be annoyed and aggravated with Hawke without trying to justify his lover's actions. He knew Fenris suffered, but if the elf could only see that his own struggles coincided with the mages'. That the whole reason the Imperium was wrong was for the same reason the Chantry was wrong. But he was stubborn as a mule and Hawke had been trying for six years now to get him to change. He wouldn't change. And in the end, Fenris would happily side with the Templars, finally getting his chance to kill all the mages he desired. Anders tugged the books from their hiding spot, opening the pages and looked over the list of ingredients. He knew he was alone, knew what he had to do. He would collect the things he needed by himself, assemble the magic himself, and somehow find a way-

"Hello?" he asked, standing up, taking his staff in hand. The clinic door had swung open. He looked around, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Alain?"

The boy looked terrified. "Anders."

"Alain, what is it? How did you get out of the Gallows?" Anders quickly crossed the clinic toward him. "Are you in trouble?"

Alain frowned. "I'm sorry."

"For what? What happened? Is Thrask okay? What's going on?" Anxiety overrode his exhaustion, adrenaline coursing through him as his heart raced.

Alain turned, looking over his shoulder, and Grace emerged, a smirk on her face.

"Grace?" Anders asked, confused. "How did you – Did you escape again? Do you need help?"

Grace laughed. "Yes. But not exactly how you think, Healer," she said, and raised a dagger.

"Wait!" Anders called, reaching out.

But Grace had slit her wrist and Anders was consumed by the blood magic, pulling him suddenly from consciousness into darkness. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Alain's terrified expression.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke went to bed alone that night, petting Duchess as she came to curl up next to him. It was the first time in a very, very long time that he wasn't sharing his space with Anders. He stared through the darkness, imagining his lover there, looking back. But Anders' side of the bed was empty and still made, Orana having changed the linens sometime that day. He sighed, closing his eyes, listening to Duchess purr. Filet whined and pressed a cold nose to his back, and Hawke shifted over, allowing the mabari to come up onto the bed behind him. Anders had complained about there not being enough room for all of them, and on most nights the large dog bed in front of the fire was occupied. But tonight, Hawke allowed it.

After Anders left, he returned to the Hanged Man, had a drink, and began to clean up. Aveline and a few other guards appeared not too long after, one of the patrons having alerted them to the fight. Hawke gave an official statement which was more or less that Danarius and a few slavers attacked them and they fought back. Varric and Isabela corroborated this, Fenris nodding mutely. Aveline had no choice but to take their word and her guardsmen handled the bodies. Not too long after that, Corff returned, and Hawke offered to pay for the damages. He was declined; the extra insurance Corff took out on the bar after the Qunari attack would pay off. And, after helping to clean up what they could, he walked back to Hightown with Fenris.

Fenris hadn't wanted to discuss it. Hawke didn't press, not wanting Fenris to walk away angrily from him as well. The elf thanked him, shaking his hand, promising him he'd be in touch, that he wouldn't leave Kirkwall until he decided what to do now that Danarius was no longer a threat. Hawke watched him go before returning to a cold home and an empty bed. Immediately he lit the fires, declined the offer of a meal from Orana, and simply walked up the stairs for some much needed rest. But sleep would elude him for a long time as he tossed and turned.

When finally fell asleep, his dreams were nightmares, reminding him of the fight, of Danarius. Watching Anders wince in pain as the knife pressed against his throat. Danarius proposing a trade, kissing Anders so tenderly. The thought enraged him, that man's hands on _his_ lover. Justice emerging to keep Anders safe, the brief flash of jealousy Hawke felt because he knew he was unable to do the same in that moment. Back to Anders now, his face screwed up in anger, in frustration, yelling at Hawke, leaving the tavern. Hawke rolled over and felt a warm body next to his, jarring him from sleep.

"Anders?"

But it was just Filet, who was snoring. Hawke, disgusted with himself, with the entire situation, dragged himself out of bed. The sun was just starting to rise, and though he couldn't have gotten more than an hour or two of sleep, he began to dress. He'd promised to give Anders time, but he needed to see him. He wouldn't give excuses, he'd just apologize and listen to what Anders had to say. He wondered if Anders would force him to choose between himself and Fenris. Hawke hoped it wouldn't come to that. If it did… well, Fenris had quite a lot of money saved up. Danarius was no longer a threat. It would pain Hawke to walk away from his friend, but he felt more deeply for Anders than he'd ever had for anyone.

Penning a quick note to Sebastian, suggesting he check on Fenris, Hawke left it for Bodahn to send when the dwarf woke. He shouldered his staff and took the shortcut through the basement, not wanting to be dogged by Meredith's cronies. The lanterns outside the clinic were extinguished, and Hawke took a breath, knocking on the door. No answer, but he expected as much.

"Anders," he called. "I know you don't want to see me right now, but I thought…"

He pushed the door open and it swung in easily. With a frown, he stepped inside. It was quiet. Perhaps Anders was still asleep, forgetting to lock his door in his anger. It wouldn't be the first time Anders fell asleep face down in his latest manifesto, forgetting to lock up behind him. He crossed the clinic, peering around the privacy screen, expecting to see Anders asleep atop a book, or curled in the cot. But he wasn't there, and the cot hadn't looked slept in. There was a book open, however, Anders' messy scrawl on one of the parchments there. Hawke picked it up. The book was one of the tomes on Tevinter magics. The list in his hand, he realized, must have been the ingredients for the potion to separate Justice and Anders. Little checkmarks were next to each one except two which were circled.

_Drakestone. Sela petrae._

Hawke had no idea what either of them were, though he assumed the first might have had something to do with dragons by the name. He tucked the paper into the book and closed it before picking up another paper, which was half-scribbled upon. He took up the sad looking quill and wrote a note to Anders.

_Anders,_

_I'm sorry. I'd like to talk to you, please. I'll be out all day today. Thought I'd visit my uncle. Promised Isabela I'd look into something for her. Orsino wants me to look into something tomorrow night and I hope you'll come. I'll probably be home tomorrow all day until about midnight and then I'll need to go._

_I love you._

_G_

He left the note atop the book and left, shutting the door behind him, wondering if Anders would come to see him. Their parting was horrible, but Anders hadn't left him, hadn't said that that's what he wanted. And what would Hawke do if Anders decided it was over? His chest hurt to think about it as he trudged up to Lowtown, pulling his hood over his head. When he first met Anders, he didn't think he'd ever see him again. He was just a mage in trouble, just someone who needed help. Mostly unremarkable, he thought. Then he turned out to be the very person Hawke needed, the Warden who had the maps that would allow him to obtain the treasures to buy his mother's old estate, to provide for his family.

That night he went to the Chantry for Anders, Anders changed his life. They shared a bond. Anders was like him, a mage who'd lost so much. A mage who wanted to change things, who knew it wasn't right the way the Templars treated them. The way people looked at them in fear. And slowly it was a friendship that formed, growing stronger with everything they shared. Hawke hadn't realized how important Anders was to him until after the Deep Roads in the Hanged Man, when Anders drunkenly admitted to loving him before he passed out. And then in the morning, Hawke kissed him, but only his forehead, wondering if Anders would allow more or if was just an infatuation. If the drunken admission was just that, or if it was simply platonic.

Then there was the First Day celebration. The first real holiday after they moved into the estate. Hawke had been drunk. He wanted to get Anders away from the others in order to give him the present. The top of his staff, the silver dragon's head. Hawke searched the cave by himself, then looked in earnest for a blacksmith good enough to repair it. He would've kissed him then, but thought perhaps Anders would laugh at him, push it off as drunken affection. And three years later, when he thought his feelings would've faded, they only increased. And he noticed something else. The way Anders would look at him, touch his hand. The intimate embraces that lasted a bit too long. 

He tried to talk to Varric about it but the conversation quickly turned awkward. Varric was a good friend but not someone he felt comfortable talking to about feelings. Isabela would likely say something to Anders and ruin it, and he wasn't about to ask Fenris for help. Merrill wouldn't understand, or perhaps she would understand too well, and any thoughts about Aveline and talking to her about romance mixed about as well as oil and water. In the end, he found himself in the Chantry, because if anyone was going to listen, it would be a dead god.

Sebastian found him there and struck up a conversation with him. Hawke was already acquainted with him, having helped Sebastian get vengeance on the men who'd killed his family. He helped Sebastian come to terms with his family's death, returning his sister's locket to him. Though Hawke didn't talk about his own father, he knew that Sebastian was well aware of the story of Leandra Amell, the noble woman who ran off with an apostate. Sebastian guessed he was a mage, and promised to keep his secret. It was for the Maker to judge, he'd said.

So Hawke asked him what he should do. He didn't name names; he didn't state outright it was Anders. But Sebastian was horribly shrewd and he easily guessed. He was cautious, careful with Hawke's emotions. His concern for Hawke wasn't that Anders was a mage himself, but his outspokenness against the Chantry and the Templars. He appreciated Sebastian's gentle words. And in the end, Hawke's impulsiveness and anger betrayed him. After what happened with Alrik, Fenris calling Anders an abomination, he couldn't stop himself. It was either that or punching Fenris in the face. And later, when he confronted Fenris, when they talked, he understood Fenris's feelings. Not love for Hawke, perhaps, but an indecisiveness. An inability to move on and try to live as a free man. He'd clung to Hawke not out of friendship, but an interim master in a way. Hawke had become an unhealthy substitute for Danarius. It certainly explained Fenris's pattern of anger and apology, and they parted with a better understanding of one another and a stronger relationship. Though Fenris had expressed his concerns for Hawke's admission of love.

In fact, most everyone in their group had. Varric seemed happy for them both, but asked about Justice. Isabela was more intrigued as to whether or not the relationship was a threesome, and speaking of threesomes, she was always available. Aveline didn't lack an opinion either, warning him to be careful, reminding him of the law regarding apostates. Merrill alone seemed happy for them both, sending along flowers and a note in congratulations when she finally learned about the relationship. And Hawke… he was just happy and content for the first time almost since before his baby sister's innocence had been taken from her. 

He missed Bethany fiercely now. She would be happy for him. Carver knew about himself and Anders, of course he did. He was sure the whole of the Gallows knew and he didn't care. But Carver said nothing, not even to tease him about it or to warn him against Anders. Though, it seemed that Carver hadn't mentioned anything about Justice to Meredith, and Hawke thanked the Maker for small favors. He found himself missing his mother now more than ever. She mentioned briefly how happy she was that Hawke had finally found someone to love. In the few days after he'd brought Anders to stay at the estate, before she was killed, she pulled him aside to let him know. And he was grateful for it. It hurt to think about her and his father now, wondering if Malcolm would approve of Anders.

Shoving away the maudlin thoughts that threatened to overtake him, he stopped by a stall in the Lowtown Market and purchased a loaf of just baked bread and a bottle of fresh milk before deciding to buy a small container of honey as well. Feeling a little better, he walked to Gamlen's apartment with breakfast, knocking on the door.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming. Bloody tax collectors…" The door opened, and Gamlen's scowl faded only a little. "Oh. It's you."

"…glad to see you too, Uncle," Hawke said. He lifted the cloth sack containing the bread and honey, and gestured with the milk bottle. "Can I come in?"

Gamlen rolled his eyes. "I suppose," he said, and retreated inside.

Hawke entering, toeing the door shut and shoved aside some papers on the table, placing the items down. "Tax collectors?"

"Damn Coterie," he muttered. "Not your affair, boy." He pulled two somewhat clean glasses from a shelf and handed Hawke a knife.

Hawke sliced the bread while Gamlen poured out the milk, and they ate amicably. "I have the coin to pay off your debts. It's what Mother would want."

Gamlen shrugged, tearing the slice viciously, dipping it in the honey. "They'll just keep coming."

"You should learn to stop gambling."

"Nothing else to do in this shithole," Gamlen muttered. "Not all of us can be Champion of a city."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be. City running me into the ground. Blood mages trying to kill me. The Knight-Commander bossing me around. Can't take a shit without Templars there to make sure I've wiped properly."

Gamlen let out a laugh. "Bet you wished you'd stayed down here with the rest of the scum."

"I miss it in a way," Hawke admitted. "Maybe not your flea infested mattresses."

"I only got them because of your damn dog."

"I resent that," Hawke said easily.

"Resent it all you want, boy, doesn't make it any less true."

Hawke grinned, familiar now with Gamlen's way of affection. Though he would insult and curse, there was no real animosity behind the words. "Let me at least give you the take I got from Meredith's last job she sent me on."

Gamlen shrugged, and scowled when Hawke tossed a coin pouch on the table. It was three times what Hawke had earned on the job, and neither said another word about it as Gamlen pocketed it. They fell to silence for a bit longer, until the bread was almost gone and there were only drips remaining in the milk bottle. Gamlen sat back, covering a belch with the back of his hand.

"You know, boy…" he started, looking Hawke over.

"Hm?"

"I guess there was something to that man Leandra ran off with after all."

Hawke frowned, looking up at him. He'd never heard Gamlen talk about Malcolm with anything other than derision, never heard him refer to him as anything but 'the mage' or 'that apostate'.

"After all," Gamlen said, "he can't have been all bad to have raised a kid like you."

Hawke stared for a moment, dumbstruck. "Uncle, was that a… compliment?"

Gamlen scowled. "Yeah well, don't read too much into it. You're still part Amell. Family's important in the end, after all."

Hawke laughed, watching as Gamlen cleared the dishes. He stretched, his eye catching on a scribbled note amongst the official looking notices. With interest, he plucked the note from the pile.

_Gamlen,_

_I found the Gem of Keroshek. If you want it, come to Darktown. Alone._

"Hey!" Gamlen said, snatching it from him. "Don't go snooping, boy."

Hawke frowned. "What's the Gem of Keroshek?"

"It's nothing. Just forget it. There are things in my life that don't concern you, you know."

It seemed the touching family moment had passed. Hawke pushed himself up from the table. "Sounds important."

"Leave it," Gamlen snapped. "Stupid thing is cursed. I lost everything chasing it. Our money, the house, Mara-" He stopped, frowning, realizing he'd said too much.

"Who's Mara?" Hawke asked. This was the first time he'd heard of anyone by that name.

"She's none of your damn business, that's who she is. There you go, ruining a perfectly fine morning. Just… just head back to your fancy little home in Hightown and leave me alone."

Hawke shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and left, letting the door shut a bit more forcefully than he would have.

It _had_ been a surprisingly nice morning, and Gamlen's mood swing left a foul taste in his mouth. He could go see what Isabela was up to, to see if she needed him yet, but she had said nightfall, and it was barely noon. His thoughts swayed to what Anders might be doing before he remembered Anders wasn't speaking to him. Fenris wouldn't likely want his company either, and at any rate, Sebastian was probably with him. He could visit Merrill in the alienage, but despite her help with the fight last week, she might still not want to see him. Varric was busy avoiding the Merchant's Guild and helping Corff with the damage to the Hanged Man, he was sure. He sighed, pulled his hood up again, and turned back to Darktown. He would look into this Gem of Keroshek thing for Gamlen for lack of anything better to do.

"Never thought I'd actually want a job from Meredith," he muttered to himself.

It only took a few minutes of wandering to find a likely looking group of people. They were dressed in Coterie leathers, and the man Hawke presumed was the leader was leaning against a wall, thumbs in his belt buckle. He wolf whistled at a woman in rags, who hurried away, and he called after her crudely before laughing. Hawke thought he might pick a fight with him on principle, irritated as he was.

"Are you the one who sent my uncle a note about the Gem of Keroshek?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Might be, might not be," he said, sneering. Hawke could see the remains of his breakfast in his teeth and on his chin. "Was beginning to think he wouldn't show. And he didn't, did he? Sent his nephew. Tell him it's rude to keep people waiting. It's not like I don't got things to do."

Hawke pulled his hood back and the effect was immediate. Several of the thugs whispered to one another, backing up a bit. But the leader didn't seem to recognize him. "Get to the point."

"Shut up and listen," the man said, straightening, pulling a dagger from his pocket. "We was hired to give that guy a note when he came looking. But the note talks about a gem and we decided we want that instead."

"If you can read, you'll know that I don't have it." Hawke wondered what the hell he'd walked into. Someone was jerking Gamlen around.

"Yeah but we figure you can lead us to who does got it, and then we'll take it from them."

"Quit wasting my time," Hawke said, and turned his back on the man.

He moved to attack, which was what Hawke was anticipating. He ducked the clumsy knife swipe and grabbed the man's arm. Using the man's forward momentum, Hawke flipped him over his shoulder and propelled him with a bit of force magic, slamming him to the ground. He heard the movement behind him and turned, palm full of flames.

"You know who I am," he growled. The other men nodded, backing up. "Do you want me to unleash this?" They shook their heads.

The man quivered. "Cowards! He won't kill you! The Knight-Commander would have his head!"

Hawke sneered down at him, looking at the man upside down. "Do you think the Knight-Commander gives a shit about scum like you?" He unleashed the flame at the feet of the other men, who ran away quickly. "Now," he said to the man. "Give me the note that was meant for my uncle and I might let you live."

The man considered this for a moment. He reached into his breast pocket. Hawke saw the smaller dagger a second before it swiped the air where he would have been had he not jumped back. Furious now, he threw his palm forward and unleashed a bolt of electricity which caught the man directly in the face. He screamed and convulsed, then lay still, quiet and dead. 

Hawke felt sick. He knew he could've called it self-defense, but was it? The street gangs that attacked in the middle of the night had more sense, most of them surrendering when they realized they were overwhelmed. He could've incapacitated the man without killing him. He always tried not to kill when he could help it. Giant spiders and dragons, sure. Corpses, demons, shades and blood mages that were hell-bent on killing him? Absolutely. But not a sorry excuse for a thug in the middle of Darktown. Slimy as he might have been. For whatever subversive activities he might have used the money he made on the gem, he didn't deserve to die.

Despite it, Hawke checked his pockets, finding a few coins and a note. He took both, handing the former to the tramp the man had whistled at earlier, and left the alley, shaking slightly from anger and upset. He opened the note.

_Gamlen,_

_The gem is very pretty. I can understand your obsession with it. Remember the game, wallop? Find the place your wallop mallet came from. Your answers are there._

Hawke sighed. All of that and it was just another note leading him elsewhere. And what in Andraste's holy name was a wallop mallet? He thought maybe he heard the phrase somewhere before. He wracked his memories until it came to him. Meeran mentioned something about a wallop match once. But it'd been years since Hawke worked with him, having turned down any jobs that came from Meeran after he'd been released from his year-long contract. Instead, he walked to the Darktown Market, to someone he knew Meeran was familiar with. He found the elf leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching as people milled past.

"Tomwise," Hawke said.

Tomwise looked up, smirking. "Hawke. Never thought I'd see you again since you became Champion." They shook hands. "Can't imagine you need any poisons."

"No, not right now, but you know I'll send any business your way if I can."

"I know. You were always good to me. What can I do for you then? I don't believe this is a social visit."

"This might be a stupid question, but do you know anything about the game wallop?"

Tomwise frowned, scratching at his chin. "Next to nothing."

Hawke sighed. "You know what the mallets are made from?"

"Trees. I remember hearing my gramps talk about how some shems cut a branch from the vhenadahl years back. Caused a riot in the street, five elves dead."

Hawke winced. "Sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Tomwise said. "Doubt you were even a seed in your mum's belly at that point."

Hawke tossed him a silver. "Thanks for the information."

"Anytime, Hawke."

Hawke climbed back into Lowtown and hurried to the alienage. It was just past noon, but still a bit cold. The vhenadahl tree's leaves were in bloom, signifying the spring and the slow, inevitable approach of summer. He looked at it a moment. Though he'd been in the alienage several dozen times, he never really appreciated the fact that there was a giant tree sprouting from what was essentially was a rock quarry. Though Hightown had its little trees and gardens, there was nothing quite as impressive as this tree. At least until you were higher in the Vimmark, but even then.

"Are you the one I'm supposed to give this to?" an elf asked, holding out a note.

"Is it about a gem?" Hawke asked, sighing. The elf nodded and he took it, thanking him. Hawke flicked it open with a prickle of annoyance.

It was a bill of lading.

**Smetty's Fish Guttery  
Crate 1023**

Hawke frowned, flipping it over.

_Gamlen,_

_I'm sure you're losing patience by now, but what is one small trip to the warehouse district after waiting twenty years to get your hands on this gem? Find the crate noted on this bill. Enjoy your search!_

He had no idea who this mysterious letter writer was, but he had a feeling that if he found them, he would probably enjoy punching them in face quite a lot. Feeling he was too far into it now to stop, Hawke jogged to the docks. He was familiar with the guttery, one of the decent places to buy fish from. Bodahn went almost weekly there for dinner, and Orana had developed several tasty meals. The pungent aroma filled his nostrils as he walked inside. Workers were calling out to one another, moving boxes and unloading nets full of fish. Yet more were hacking off fish heads with cleavers, tossing them in buckets and fileting the larger ones. Hawke found the foreman and handed him the bill of lading.

"Ain't you that Champion guy?" he asked.

Hawke frowned. "I get that a lot."

"Box is up on top," the foreman said, gesturing.

Hawke thanked him and climbed the stairs. The space up here was little more than storage, and he pushed open the door. Three men were sitting, two playing cards, the third sharpening a dagger. They turned and looked up at him, standing as he came in. Hawke shut the door behind him.

"You ain't Gamlen," said the knife-sharpener.

"I'm his nephew," Hawke admitted. "You have a note for me?"

"We was told to bring Gamlen to the Sink. You ain't him."

They approached, and Hawke held up both palms, letting them fill with flame. The men backed off immediately. Hawke felt a slight bit of relief.

"Touch my uncle, and you die, understand?" he said, pleased when they nodded.

He left just as quickly, taking a road out of Kirkwall toward the Wounded Coast. He'd heard of the Sink before, but never had reason to go out. It was a gathering place for smugglers and thieves and turned up more than once in Varric's stories. A twenty minute walk and fifteen minutes of searching after that, he found the right cave, lighting his staff as he descended into the dark.

_Better not be a waste of my day,_ he thought viciously. If he found another note, he would turn around and go home for a bath, settle down with a book and wait until Isabela needed him. Luckily there was only one path into the cave and he followed it, twisting and winding until it opened out into a clearing, where a woman stood, a quiver of arrows and a bow on her back.

"So," she said, crossing her arms. "Gamlen couldn't even be bothered to come himself?"

Hawke lowered his staff, extinguishing the light. Far above, the cave opened to the sky allowing in quite a bit of sunlight. "No more notes?"

The woman sighed. "I should've known he'd send you, Cousin."

"Cousin?" Hawke asked, confused more than ever now. He didn't see it immediately upon entering the cave, but now he noticed the girl did have some of Gamlen's features. The bridge of her nose was slender, betraying her Amell heritage and her eyes were the same color and shape of Gamlen's.

"Gamlen never told you?" she asked incredulously. "I… of course he didn't. Why would he?"

A voice from behind Hawke called out. "Sorry to interrupt this touching family reunion, but we have unfinished business here."

"Veld?" she asked, stepping forward, level with Hawke now. "What are you doing here?"

"Mekel is dead," Veld said. "This bastard's killed him!"

Hawke turned. "Maybe you should calm down, _friend_ ," he said. His head was reeling and his earlier irritation returned in full force. He wanted answers and now this man he'd never seen before was accusing him of killing someone.

"Veld, let's talk about this before you do something stupid," the woman said.

"Talk about it? Like he talked to my brother before he cut him down in cold blood?"

"That doesn't make sense," the woman – his cousin – protested. "Mekel was just supposed to give him the note. Why would he-"

"He tried to kill me," Hawke said, realizing now who they were talking about. "Twice."

"You really think we didn't read it?" Veld said, pulling his sword from its sheathe. "We know about the gem, Charade. Hand it over. I won't let Mekel's death be for nothing."

"You let your idiot brother go up against someone like Hawke?" she said, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "He deserved what he got. Don't you morons know who he is?"

"A dead man," Veld said, and raised his sword.

Even before Hawke could lift his staff, Charade had drawn her bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly. It hit Veld in the arm and he staggered backward. Hawke felt electricity crackle at his fingertips and he approached the man, Charade walking next to him. They fell into step together as the man continued to back away. Hawke pulled a sovereign from his pocket and tossed it in the dirt at his feet.

"Don't make me kill you, too," Hawke said quietly.

Veld scrambled in the dirt for the coin and ran off, clutching his arm. Hawke turned back to her.

"Charade," he said.

She nodded. "And you're Garrett."

"Nice shot," he offered, unsure what else to say, gesturing to the bow.

"Thanks. Nice electricity."

"Oh yeah," Hawke said, looking down at his hands. He wasn't sure why he felt so awkward. "Gamlen never told me about you," he prompted.

"I bet there's a lot he never told you," she said, gesturing to the path. They started making their way out of the cave and she continued. "My mother, Mara… she left Gamlen before I was born. He was so fixated on that stupid gem, I doubt he even noticed she was gone."

Hawke recalled the tone in his uncle's voice when he mentioned Mara. "He noticed," he said quietly.

"She told me about him," Charade said, glancing at him. "Right before she died. I didn't even know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he offered automatically.

"And I'm sorry about yours."

Hawke winced, running a hand through his hair and sighed. "Yeah… So you set this whole thing up just for Gamlen? Did you really find the gem? Or is it just a runaround?"

They reached the mouth of the cave and continued down the coast.

"I found it," she said. "I just… I don't know. I wanted to see how far he'd go to get it. And then he didn't even show up." She sighed, kicking a stone as they walked.

"I think he's given it up. He didn't even mention it until I saw the note, and then he didn't want to talk about it. Said he lost too much chasing after it."

"What's he like?"

"He's an ass," Hawke said easily, smiling when she laughed. Her laugh reminded him of his mother's. "But he's family. Pretty much all I have left. Well. And you now," he added.

"When I saw you, I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. After all, you're the Champion of Kirkwall. I bet you have family crawling out of the woodwork."

Hawke shook his head. "No, can't say this has ever happened to me. Plenty of mothers trying to marry me off to their daughters, but no cousins appearing from thin air."

"And you believe me?"

"You look a bit like him. And my mother too, I suppose. You sound a little like her. And have her smile."

The compliment caused Charade to show off the smile in question. "So what do you think I should do?" she asked, serious once again. "Should I go see him?"

"Definitely."

"You sound so sure."

Hawke shrugged. "Family is family."

They walked in silence until they reached the gates of the city. Charade turned to him, but looked at the path down to Lowtown. "Do you think he'd accept me?"

"I think he realizes he made a stupid mistake. Go talk to him. And then, if you want, you can come up and see me. You have a place to stay?"

She looked up at him. "I'm fine. I set this up so I could meet Gamlen. I didn't expect to gain a cousin as well. I certainly don't need the money."

Hawke nodded. "Well."

"Yep."

They moved together toward one another, stopped, awkwardly offered hands for a handshake, and were halfway into a hug when Hawke just laughed. He drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly, smiling when she returned it. He released her, holding her at arm's length.

"I mean it. Come see me whenever you want."

"I will, Garrett, thank you."

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and then walked away, heading into Lowtown and out of sight. Hawke watched her go, then took the opposite path into Hightown. He thought for a moment that he would tell Anders, that his lover would be excited for him. Then with a vicious realization that washed over him like an icy shower he remembered that Anders still wasn't speaking to him. His happiness at finding an unknown family member fled, and feeling tired, he trudged home. It was still a few hours before he had to meet Isabela, but he thought a nice solitary drink and a long soak in a hot tub were definitely necessary.


	6. Chapter 6

A little coin in the right pockets, several palms that were greased, and in the end, Isabela had to apologize to Hawke, kissing his cheek. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she held him around the waist, head against his chest.

"You know you can say it," he said.

Isabela sighed. "You were right."

Hawke smiled, though it was well-hidden by his hood. He knew next to nothing about ships and sailing, but Isabela assured him the one in front of them was fast, probably the fastest in Thedas. And all it took was some bribing (done by Hawke) and some smooth taking (done by Varric). Castillon's men were all too happy to start spreading the story of how Isabela bested him, letting the gulls feast on his carcass just for threatening her. Several of them even begged her to let them stay on. A mix of intimidation, respect, and awe went a long way. And that she was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall certainly helped. An anonymous tip to the City Guard along with delivery of the papers incriminating Castillon in the slave trade would ensure that the slaving operation in the Free Marches was halted, or at least hampered considerably.

Getting Isabela to Velasco had been easy. Following her trail to rescue her was simple. Ambushing Castillon and then convincing her to kill him was a little more difficult, but Hawke did not suffer slavers. His ire with Castillon increased tenfold after remembering this was the man who wanted Isabela to suffer for saving two hundred would-be slaves. Killing the man wasn't even a bit difficult, and it was hard to say if he died from Hawke's fireball or a bolt from Bianca. Varric had a hand in convincing Isabela this was a good thing, upset as she was at a botched deal.

_"The papers for his ship! It was a fair deal!"_

_"Tell that to the parents of the children he was going to put to chains."_

Hawke was angry, and he allowed Isabela to scream at him all the way up to the Hanged Man. Varric called in a few favors, Hawke paid off a few foremen. The name of ownership of the brigantine changed quickly and quietly from Castillon to Isabela and in the morning, Hawke met her in the docks to look it over.

"She'll need a little bit of work," Isabela sighed. "But Castillon's boys are willing to do pretty much anything now they're scared of me."

"You are pretty terrifying," Hawke jested.

"What a touching compliment," she cooed. "So," she said, stepping away from him, sitting down on a crate, legs crossed. "Have you and Anders made up yet?"

Hawke frowned, expression again hidden by his hood. "I haven't seen him since the night before last."

His bed was again shared by the cat and the dog, and Anders wasn't anywhere to be found. Hawke planned on visiting the clinic once more after meeting Isabela to claim ownership of Castillon's boat. And he really didn't care to discuss it with her.

"You know it'll be fine," she said consolingly. "He loves you."

Hawke grunted. "I have to go."

"No you don't," she said. "You just don't want to talk about it."

"Enjoy your ship."

He ignored her as she called after him and headed into Darktown. The clinic was unlocked and just as he left it. The note for Anders was still on the desk. Either he hadn't been back, or he hadn't bothered moving the paper after reading it. But the cot was undisturbed as well and Hawke doubted Anders would be so fastidious in making it up nice and neat. With a sigh he turned to leave, and came face to face with a woman.

"Oh, beg your pardon, serah," she said, then frowned, looking at him. "You're him. You're that Hawke man."

Hawke shrugged. "Anders isn't here," he offered, figuring she was looking for him. "Wait, do I know you?"

"I would say so. You're the one that insisted he give you those maps for that blighted expedition all those years ago."

A memory from a long time ago came back to him. He supposed he had strong-armed her into it. "Lirene," he said. He remembered the name but had forgotten the face.

"That's right," she said, crossing her arms. "Where have you been keeping him these days, hm?"

"Anders isn't a kept man," Hawke replied, annoyed. "It's not as if I have him on a leash."

"But you would know where he is, wouldn't you?"

"No." 

He wasn't about to delve into the details of his personal life to this woman who was glaring at him. Anders could disappear well enough if he needed to. He'd had years of practice of difficult escapes. And he knew how to defend himself. But there was a fear that itched in the back of Hawke's brain. What if Meredith decided to put a little more pressure on him and hauled Anders off to the Gallows? Angry and upset, Anders' guard would be down. And if the Templars were tracking them, they would know Anders spent the night in his clinic.

"I don't believe you."

"Well I'm telling the truth. Excuse me." He tried to walk past, but she side-stepped and blocked him. "I'm not in the mood to-"

"If anything's happened to him," she said, poking a finger into his chest, "you're the one that's going to have to answer for it. I never should've told you about him in the first place. I told him you're nothing but trouble. That he was going to get into a mess of things because of you."

"I really, really don't need you to lecture me-"

"Well you're going to hear it. You understand? If he doesn't turn up safe, I'm putting the blame on your shoulders, serah."

They glared at one another a moment before Hawke shouldered past her and out. He had half a mind to turn back and take out his worry and frustrations on her. But Lirene didn't deserve that, not even if she was taking out _her_ worry and frustrations on _him._ With a sick feeling in his stomach, he took the ferry to the Gallows. Confronting Meredith, asking her if she'd taken Anders was not a good idea. If he was wrong and Meredith had nothing to do with his disappearance, and Anders was merely very good at avoiding him, then he'd be drawing Meredith's suspicions. She would want to know why Anders was missing, and the less he had the Knight-Commander involved in his love life, the better.

The ferry docked and Hawke climbed the steps to the courtyard. It was always a bit unnerving to walk into the Gallows. Likely due to the faded blood stains and the oppressive statues of slaves and their masters. It was a grim, grim place and Hawke couldn't imagine waking up every morning to see it. But the Gallows courtyard was much emptier than normal. Templars and recruits milled about, enjoying their after breakfast patrols, and there were the Tranquils setting up their shops. But the only mage he saw was Sol, who was looking defeated.

Hawke nodded to a few Templars, who nodded in turn. They knew better than to talk to him. The only Templars who would give him the time of day now were Cullen and Thrask. It was likely safer that way. Meredith was already paranoid that the mages were conspiring against her, no Templar wanted to be in her crosshairs.

"Sol."

Sol turned around, then quickly glanced left and right. "Champion. If you'll excuse me."

Hawke frowned. "No time for an old friend?"

"It's not prudent to be seen talking with you, Champion, my apologies. The Knight-Commander is…"

"I know. But I need your help."

"If I can be of service," he said hesitantly.

"Do you know if they brought Anders in?"

Sol frowned, setting his potions out on the table slowly in a calculating manner. "I didn't see, no. But I doubt that he would've been dragged through the main hall. New… acquisitions are generally brought before the Knight-Captain and then assigned a room. And Harrowed within a week."

Hawke shifted a bit, his stomach a swirling pit of nausea. "He's… well, I don't know if he's missing. We had a bit of a fight and I haven't seen him in a day and a half now. I thought maybe by now…"

Sol looked at him, concerned. "I pray to the Maker that he is just avoiding you, Hawke. It's not a good time to be mage in the Gallows." His tone was devoid of his usual cheer, and he didn't smile. His eyes were sunken and wisps of grey were starting to show in his red hair.

Hawke nodded. "I'll leave you be. Thanks, Sol."

"Good luck, Hawke. I hope you find him."

Hawke was about to turn around, but stopped, plucking an elfroot potion from Sol's stall. He quickly made up his mind. "What do you know about drakestone and sela petrae? Do you stock either?" If Anders was that angry with him that he was still staying away, Hawke would surprise him when he returned by having the ingredients waiting. Hopefully it would soften the blow.

"No, they're generally used in less… magnanimous potions. I would never have clearance to stock them let alone create anything with them. More's the pity," he added. "Some very powerful magics can be made from both."

"Where do I find them?"

Sol looked down, fidgeting a bit. "You didn't hear this from me. Drakestone needs to be mined. It's a dark mineral that shimmers when exposed to magefire. And the sela petrae is a crystal that forms on manure and urine. Generally it's ground into a powder before it's used."

"Sounds disgusting," Hawke said, wrinkling his nose. He picked up another two potions and paid him. "Thank you, Sol."

"Of course, Champion," Sol said, glancing nervously toward the gate that had opened, three Templar recruits laughing and walking down the stairs. He nodded to them.

Hawke raised a hand to them, making a show of the potions he was putting in his pouch. They eyed him, but said nothing, and Hawke crossed the courtyard to Cullen, who'd been watching him.

"Champion," Cullen greeted him.

Hawke nodded back over his shoulder. "Sol seems tired."

"We're all a bit of late," Cullen said in a somewhat apologetic tone.

And Hawke did notice that Cullen didn't stand up quite as straight. "Meredith making you burn the midnight oil?"

"You know I cannot discuss Templar procedure."

Hawke raised his hands placatingly. "It was just a friendly question, Knight-Captain. I didn't mean to pry."

Cullen frowned. "Of course. I beg your pardon."

"No need. We're friends after all, right?" Hawke noticed the way the corners of Cullen's mouth twitched.

"You've been a sterling example to the mages here. The Templar Order is grateful for your compliance in these trying times."

"One day," Hawke said, "you'll remove the stick from your arse and then we'll be able to have a real conversation."

Cullen's lips pursed, and Hawke could tell he trying to keep from smiling. "Champion."

It was a dismissal, but Hawke simply gestured. "Can I ask a candid question?"

"You may, however, you must forgive me if I am unable to answer it."

"Meredith hasn't dragged in any of my friends for questioning, has she? Any _close_ friends."

Cullen frowned, brow furrowing. "We haven't brought in any mages in the last few days."

"Hm. Knight-Commander must be going insane," Hawke joked. "No rogue mages for days."

"She is not quite there yet," Cullen sighed.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, and Cullen turned a bit pink, realizing he let slip more than he should have. Hawke let it be. Cullen wouldn't likely lie to him about Anders. "Thank you, Knight-Captain," he said sincerely, holding out his hand.

Cullen shook it, the cool metal gauntlet sliding over Hawke's skin. "And Champion," he added, as Hawke turned to go. "I hope your friend turns up. Unharmed."

Hawke stared at him a moment. Cullen nodded, then looked away, standing at attention, eyes forward. Surprised, Hawke left the Gallows, shaking his head. He thought he had Cullen figured out, the Knight-Captain so transparent in his goals and convictions. Meredith's iron fist had shaken both mage and Templar it seemed, and that was telling. Orsino wasn't just being paranoid. She really was starting to lose her mind. With any luck, his rendezvous tonight would pull up some hopefully damning evidence he could bring to the Grand Cleric, and Meredith would be forced from her position. Even if Cullen were to take over as interim Knight-Commander it would be better for the mages and Templars alike.

Not that Hawke felt any particular sympathies for the Templars. But talking to Cullen, listening to him speak of Uldred's crimes, the abominations in the Circle in Ferelden, how he trembled to recall it all. Hawke couldn't understand that type of mental torment that Cullen had to undergo, watching his friends being tortured and killed one by one over a period of weeks. He was surprised Cullen was still able to perform the most basic tasks. And regardless of his feelings on mages, he seemed honestly to want to help them. Even if he was misguided in his paternalism.

Deciding that the best thing to do was to get his mind off mages and Templars and especially Meredith for now, Hawke started the trek out to the Bone Pit. If he were going to find any drakestone, it would be there. Several men greeted him, Fereldans who'd found that working the mines was preferable to begging coin in the streets. Jansen, a man he'd saved from dragons years ago, was foreman now. He gripped Hawke's hand, shaking it with enthusiasm.

"Champion! Good to see you out here. Come to inspect?"

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not technically your boss anymore. But I do need access to the mine. And maybe a pick, hammer and chisel?"

"You looking for something in particular?"

"Drakestone?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"Mm," Jansen said, scratching the scruff on his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah I think we seen that. Don't think we ever took any deposits though. No market for it. If you follow the tracks to the third cave there, I think you'll find some along the edges. Usually where it shows up."

Hawke was impressed. "You used to be a farmer. Seem to know your stuff about rocks now."

Jansen laughed. "Ain't it funny the things you learn when you have to survive?"

Hawke shook his hand again and accepted the tools, descending into the cave. It was, he thought. Not funny exactly, but over the years he'd learned so much more than the skills he'd arrived in Kirkwall with. Politics, learning how to talk around people and still get the information he needed. Usually he'd be happy to threaten to bust heads and that would be it. But in the past three years especially he adapted a gentler touch. He hated that it seemed almost as if he were bowing and scraping to Meredith, but handling her with children's gloves was the best option for right now.

He spent the better part of two hours chipping away at rocks, testing them with his fire until his muscles were sore and aching and he had a bag full of stone. He had no idea how much Anders might need, and he really had no desire to go back for more after that. He thanked Jansen, handing him back the tools and returned to Kirkwall to swing by the Hanged Man. Parts of the tavern were roped off, the construction for the repairs still underway. He avoided them and headed up to Varric's suite, knocking on the open door.

Varric looked up. "Hawke." He eyed the bag. "What's that?"

"Something Anders needed." He set it down in a corner and took a seat, helping himself to some wine and Varric's cheese platter.

"Trouble in paradise finally blown over?" Varric asked, dipping his pen in his ink pot.

"Please tell me you're leaving _that_ out of your story."

"Conflict breeds interest."

Hawke glared at him, but Varric merely smiled. He silently cursed the dwarf. Varric had never been intimidated by him. "No. I haven't seen him. I thought I'd get a few things he needed. Did he stop by?"

"Nuh-uh," Varric admitted. "Haven't seen him since the fight. Heard the elf's doing okay now."

Hawke felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't seen Fenris since that night either. And while he knew Sebastian had more than likely gone over, he should've checked in on his friend as well. "Well that's good. But I thought maybe Anders would come see you. He likes you."

"Everyone likes me," Varric said. "Except the Merchant's Guild. They seem to be catching on to the fact that I don't have a Great Aunt Milda who's handling the accounts."

"I'll never understand dwarven politics," Hawke admitted.

"That makes two of us," Varric laughed. "Look, Hawke, I'm sure he'll turn up. He was pretty upset, right?"

"Yeah. But…"

"Blondie's a big boy. He can handle himself. And if not, there's always Justice."

Hawke felt that sting of jealousy, a prickle of annoyance. "I suppose." He drained his glass of wine, popping the last of the cheese into his mouth. "Thanks Varric. I have a thing tonight, but I'll be around tomorrow. Oh, Isabela says thank you as well. For your help with the ship."

Varric smirked. "What help?"

Hawke grinned and took up his bag. "I'll be seeing you."

"Safe travels, Hawke."

Hawke swung back to the clinic once more, setting the bag of drakestone under Anders' cot. The clinic was just as he'd left it. With a sigh he opened the sewer grate, and was greeted with a fetid stench. "Oh, blech," he winced. Before he descended, he removed his robes, tossing them on Anders' cot, leaving him in tunic and pants. It was chilly, but at least the hem of his robes wouldn't drag through Maker only knew what. Shouldering his staff, he pulled a cloth bag from the storage cupboard, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

"I seriously hope he appreciates this," Hawke muttered, and descended.

He followed the path, gagging in the chokedamp, careful not to touch the walls which were coated in a disgusting shade of brownish green. The sewer opened into a larger junction, and he began his search.

"I am definitely not telling Varric about this," he said to himself, carefully picking up several crystals. "Maker, this is the most… disgusting - oh, ew."

His boot had squelched into a particularly large and watery pile, and he thought he might simply burn this pair once he was finished. For all his travels, even through the sewers, he only had to get this close to droppings once before. And wyvern shit had smelled a thousand times better than human. Or perhaps because it was so long ago, he'd simply forgotten how disgusting it was.

He looked in the bag, which was three quarters of the way full. "This had better be enough," he declared before tracking his way back to the clinic.

Hawke half-expected to see Anders there when he emerged, but the clinic was still empty. With a scowl, he dropped the bag of sela petrae next to the drakestone, pushed the sewer grate closed and peeled off the gloves. They disintegrated with a small fireball. His boots were covered up to the ankle though, and with a resigned sigh, he headed to a dockside encampment. He lowered himself onto the pier and sat, dipping his feet into the water. When his boots were relatively clean, he returned home for a wash and a proper meal. 

He sifted through his letters, smiling to see one from Charade, thanking him, and a note from Walter – one of Evelina's kids he'd helped the week before. It took him the better part of an hour to answer his correspondence, making sure both dog and cat were taken care of, then headed to Fenris's mansion, deciding he'd put it off for far too long. He knocked once only out of propriety than any real sense of thinking Fenris would hear him, and entered.

In the years Fenris had lived there, no amount of prodding from anyone convinced him to fix up the main hall. The room he spent most of his time in however, had been repaired despite his protests by Hawke, who paid carpenters and masonry workers to fix the holes in the roof and the floor. The room was multipurpose now, a large four poster bed in the corner, a long table with chairs, and a fireplace. Fenris was sitting cross-legged in a large armchair in front of the fire, devoid of his plate armor, book in his lap. He was bent low, lips moving slowly, finger under the sentence he was reading.

"Fenris?"

Fenris looked up, his expression softening upon seeing Hawke. "Come in."

Hawke did, settling in the chair next to him. "This place is almost homey now. Going to put down roots?"

"It was never a place I saw myself staying," Fernis admitted. He folded down the corner page of the book and closed it, placing it aside.

"You never had the options before. Now you do," Hawke pointed out.

"Hm. I suppose. Tell me, Hawke," he said, contemplatively. "What do you when you stop running?"

Hawke laughed and answered immediately. "I never stopped, Fenris. I can't answer that."

"But you have a home," Fenris prompted.

"I have my mother's house. It's not… home." It had felt even less so the last two days with Anders gone. "And I don't plan to stay here under Meredith's thumb forever."

Fenris uncrossed his legs and stretched before pulling them underneath him, resettling. He seemed too small in the overstuffed chair meant for a lord much taller and broader than himself. "Will you leave Kirkwall?"

"It depends, I suppose," Hawke said. "If Meredith is deposed. What happens to the Circle. If the Divine decides to make a move or not. Whether a new viscount gets appointed. I could just leave, but I wouldn't want to leave this all behind. Not yet."

"All of this?"

Hawke elaborated. "My friends. My family. Gamlen. I… have a cousin," he said carefully.

"Oh?" Fenris leaned back, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair, setting his cheek against his fist, eyes on Hawke.

"Charade," Hawke confirmed. "I ran into her yesterday. She was trying to get Gamlen's attention. It's a long story."

"And this… is a good thing?" Fenris ventured.

"I think so. My family," he started, then stopped, casting a look to Fenris. The elf's face tightened, then he nodded and Hawke continued. "They've always been the most important thing to me. They were all I had. Then after losing Bethany and Father. And Mother," he added softly. "Carver running off to be an idiot. It was just unexpected to see her."

Fenris took this in, eyes sliding to the crackling fire. "I think I understand. I find my memories returning slowly. My sister and my mother. My past. It is… painful to think about. To think that I wanted these," he said, extending his free arm, examining the tattoos. "That I fought for them."

"You wanted to save your mother and sister. There's nothing wrong with fighting for your family."

"I suppose."

Hawke shifted uncomfortably. For as much as he liked Fenris, sometimes talking to him was like pulling teeth. He attributed it to all the time Fenris spent in close contact with the Qunari. "Did Sebastian visit?"

Fenris smiled slightly. "Your influence, no doubt," he said, dropping his arm to his lap and sitting up a bit straighter.

"As self-righteous as he is, sometimes it's easier to talk to him than any of the others."

"Mm," Fenris agreed. "He asked me to return to Starkhaven with him if he decides to go."

This was a surprising revelation to Hawke. He knew they were friends, but he didn't realize how close they were. "Oh?" Part of him was annoyed. The other part was happy for Fenris. He'd never had the opportunity to stay in one area for long, to establish friendships. It was nice to know he could pop down to Lowtown to visit Varric or Isabela or Merrill. That Fenris, Sebastian and Aveline were only a few minutes' walk away. The thought of not being able to see them? The thought that they might not be around to show up for a holiday get together? It pained him. And it frustrated him to feel that way.

"He's impressed with my sword work. When he returns – if he returns," Fenris corrected. "He believes I will be indispensable in training his men."

"It's an option," Hawke said tersely.

Fenris raised an eyebrow, looking at him once more. He sat up straighter still, both hands in his lap now. "You sound displeased."

"It's stupid." And when Fenris deigned to stay quiet, Hawke sighed and continued. "I thought maybe if I left Kirkwall for whatever reason that you would stay with me." He looked at Fenris, and his frustration increased when the elf still held his tongue. "I'm not used to making and keeping friends," he explained. "Isabela has a ship now. And it seems like… depending on what happens in the future, she might be leaving. And I might go with her."

"And you would wish me to remain at your side."

It wasn't a question, but Hawke nodded. "If you wanted to."

"You are right, Hawke," Fenris said, a slight amusement in his tone.

"I am? About what?"

"You really don't know what to do when you stop running."

Hawke looked at him, then leaned over, giving him a shove when Fenris chuckled. "I mean it. You have options now. So if you want, you can come with me and Isabela and…" _Anders_ he tried to say, but the name remained unspoken.

"Mm." Fenris seemed to understand. There was a long silence where the crackling fire was the only sound. Then, finally, Fenris spoke. "If you would have me, Hawke, I would gladly stay by your side."

"Well. Good," Hawke said, standing. He was tired of awkward conversation, and night was starting to fall. "Come for dinner in an hour or two? It's not fish tonight, I promise."

Fenris nodded. He pulled his book back to his lap and opened it. "Did you still require my assistance this evening?"

"If you wouldn't mind. I thought to bring Merrill as well." He ignored the face Fenris made. "I'm expecting the worst at this meeting."

"And the mage is still not speaking to you?" Fenris asked, though he didn't look up. His tone was neutral, and Hawke couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"He needs time."

"Mm."

Hawke frowned. "You could use his name, you know."

Fenris looked up, shaking hair from his eyes. "I am aware."

They stared at each other a moment longer before Hawke simply shook his head. "See you soon," he said, and took his leave, wondering if he was simply beating a dead horse trying to get Fenris and Anders to understand each other.

-

Hours later he found himself with Merrill and Fenris at his back, traversing Hightown, careful to remain quiet and unseen. Merrill had been only too happy to help him when he asked for her. She talked about Nyssa, how much better she was doing, how she was relieved it was finally over. Hawke was pleased to hear it. As bad as the mission had turned out, it could been a lot worse. From blocks away, Hawke heard the Chantry clock chime midnight. He pulled his staff off his back and his companions followed suit with their own weapons. 

He inched around a corner, holding his hand up for them to stay back. In the courtyard, he saw quite a few Circle mages and Templars. Unfortunately the wind had started to pick up and he wasn't able to hear what they were saying. Steeling himself, ready for whatever might happen, he stepped out cautiously into the yard.

"It's the Champion!" one of them yelled. "We know you're working for Orsino!"

Hawke had held up his hand in a gesture of peace, but it seemed neither mage nor Templar wanted to hear what he had to say. The attacks were quick and brutal, two Templars rushing in and Fenris leaping forward to counter their blows.

"Try not to kill them!" Hawke shouted to both Fenris and Merrill. More death, especially the deaths of Meredith's Templars and Circle mages, would only cause increased strife in the Gallows.

When three mages ran, Hawke let them go. But the Templars and a senior enchanter were relentless, and Hawke could only guess wildly as to why they would attack him. They knew who he was. If Meredith had sent him instead of Orsino, he might have guessed a setup, a trap of the Knight-Commander's. But surely Orsino wouldn't try to get him killed, would he? What would it prove?

Fenris cut the last one down, Merrill apologizing profusely to Hawke for having to kill the enchanter, who lay at her feet.

"It's fine," Hawke assured her, slightly breathless. He knelt down next to the lieutenant's body and searched his pockets, hoping to find anything that would reveal why Circle mages and Templars would be having a clandestine midnight meeting, and then subsequently attack him when he interrupted. He tugged a piece of paper from the Templar's pocket that was half-torn and crumpled. Holding it up in the moonlight, he read:

_...will not tell you again: it's not safe to bring new recruits to our meetings. Meredith has eyes everywhere. Bring anyone who claims to be against her to Gardibali's Warehouse at night. We must ensure their loyalty, lest Meredith discover us before we are ready to confront her..._

Secret meetings to usurp Meredith's position?

"What did you find?" Merrill asked, crouching down next to him. "Oh I know where that is! Down at the docks."

Fenris wiped his sword on the Templar's skirts before sheathing it. "We shouldn't linger."

Hawke pocketed the paper and they hurried out of the courtyard. Though he was hesitant to leave the bodies, he'd rather not spend all night making reports and trying to explain to Aveline something he didn't even understand. Most likely it would be reported as a Circle mage escape with their Templar pursuers and a confrontation gone horribly wrong. His heart raced as they ran through Lowtown to the docks. Merrill easily found the warehouse, and they edged inside. Hawke heard a man gasping for breath.

"I… saw him."

"Take it easy. Saw who?"

Hawke frowned. He knew that voice. He moved in further, and saw a very familiar Templar, a boy he'd saved years ago from blood mages. His light blond hair was easily spotted even at a distance, and around him were the three mages that had run away from them.

"There! Him!" the mage said, pointing.

Keran turned around, eyes widening. "Champion?"

The mages raised their staves to attack, and Keran immediately rounded on them. "No!" he shouted, throwing out his hand.

Hawke felt his connection to the Fade start to diminish, then returned full force. Keran used cleansing, but not on him. Hawke put up a hand to stop Merrill and Fenris from attacking. The three mages backed away quickly, and Keran approached, looking apprehensive.

"If I'd known that you were the one they were talking about," Keran started. His brow was furrowed and he looked around nervously, as if expecting to be attacked.

"Calm down," Hawke said. "Explain just what's going on. You're looking to oust Meredith?"

"It's… it's complicated. I didn't know you were involved. They said that someone was spying, that we would be found out and turned over to Meredith as conspirators. If I'd known it was you, I would've told you right away."

"Told me what?" Hawke asked, even more confused now.

"I would have sent you a message but I was being watched. I don't hold with kidnapping. Not after what happened to me. I didn't want to get involved. "

Hawke felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Kidnapping. Who?" He hoped that for Keran's sake, the next word out of his mouth was not 'Anders.'

"That blond mage with golden Andraste staff. They found him – AH!"

Hawke lurched forward, grabbing Keran by the collar of his cuirass and dragged him forward. His face inches from Keran's, he snarled, "Where. Is. He?"

"The Wounded Coast!" Keran squealed. "Please don't hit me!"

"Where on the coast!" Hawke demanded, shaking him.

"The ruins! I'm sorry!"

Hawke shoved him back and was halfway to the door before he turned around, pointing at him. "You owe me, Keran."

"Yes! Okay!" Keran said, relieved that Hawke was sparing his life.

_Anders._

_They took Anders._

The thought repeated itself in his brain as he ran, not even bothering to see if Merrill and Fenris were following. Once he cleared the Kirkwall gates, he cast a haste spell and took off. His muscles ached, lungs screaming for air as he tore down the coast. He thought he heard Merrill shouting behind him but ignored it. All that mattered was Anders, getting to Anders. Making sure he was alive, unhurt. If anyone hurt him…

He slowed down then came to a stop, catching his breath, feeling sweat beading on his forehead as he looked around. The ruins were in the distance on a jetty of rock and sand that was almost at sea level. He remembered it as the place where he found the viscount's son years ago. There had been a hell of a fight then, and he hoped there wouldn't be a repeat. Behind him, he heard Merrill and Fenris panting as they came up.

"He's here," Hawke said, and started down the path leading to the ruins.

"Well here you are," said a voice.

Hawke watched the figure of a man approach, though he couldn't quite make out his face in the shadows. Above, the clouds shifted, casting moonlight over the coast, and Hawke's eyes narrowed in anger. "You."

Samson, the ex-Templar who'd been involved when they were searching for Feynriel, smirked as he came to stop in front of them. "Me. I'm surprised you remember. You've been sticking your nose into every problem in Kirkwall since you stumbled off the boat."

"Where is Anders?" Hawke demanded. Everything else was secondary.

"If I'd known they were going to take him… Well, I never forgot him roughhousing me years ago, but he's here, yeah."

"Where?"

Samson laughed. "They said you were spying for Orsino. Going to turn us all in because you've become such a good little pup to that bitch."

Hawke stepped forward and Samson stepped back, drawing his sword. Behind Hawke, he could feel Fenris's lyrium tattoos come to life, heard Merrill draw her staff. "Anders."

"So that's it? You're here for him and not for us?"

"I don't even know why _you're_ here," Hawke growled, continuing to advance on him. "You're not a Templar anymore. You don't have a beef with Meredith."

"I got no love for her. But that all happened before your time," Samson said, looking around. The path down was rather steep and the jetty was still a hundred feet off. "So why's Orsino sent you?"

"Orsino," Hawke said, pulling his staff from his back with an easy spin, "wanted me to look into why a bunch of mages were escaping the Gallows for nights at a time. I didn't realize there were Templars involved."

"You know your buddy Thrask's here too. Yeah," Samson said, tripping over a rock, quickly regaining his balance. "We just want to see Meredith gone. But those mages, they've been using blood magic. I don't hold with that."

"Explain," Hawke said, still advancing.

"Meredith's been taking a bit too many hits of the old blue juice, if you know what I'm saying. Making her go a bit funny in the head. I'd cheer to see her shipped off to Val Royeaux. She threw me out of the Templars just for helping a mageling get letters to his sweetheart. Ain't no crime in that. But this group, it's a bit more than I can take. I was leaving."

"Mages and Templars working together to overthrow Meredith," Hawke said. It was all coming together. The meetings, the note, what Keran said.

"See for yourself," he said, gesturing down the path.

Hawke looked up and saw a familiar shock of red hair. Thrask, and he was pacing slowly. Samson took the opportunity to run, and Hawke ordered Fenris who'd moved to intercept, to let him go. Hawke continued down the path, pausing briefly when he saw Thrask wasn't alone. Grace, Alain, and several others he didn't recognize were there. Templars and mages alike. And on the ground in the middle of the ruins lay Anders, unconscious but seemingly unharmed. Hawke tightened his grip on his staff and clenched his jaw.

"Thrask," he spat. Normally he'd have been happy to see the Templar. But if Thrask had sanctioned this…

"I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't have come here," Thrask sighed.

"You took Anders," Hawke said, keeping his tone even, glaring at him.

Thrask frowned. "There was a… miscommunication," he said, glaring sidelong at Grace, who didn't even have the decency to look abashed. "I'd wanted to talk to Anders about our plans to overthrow Meredith, to bring him here to the coast and converse with him. There was some disagreement over the plan, some who thought he would be a liability because of his relationship with you. It's all been a bloody mess. Please, Champion. I have nothing but respect for you. I apologize."

"Holding secret nighttime meetings that aren't so secret is a stupid way to go about overthrowing the Knight-Commander. If you'd come to me – if you had _told_ me, I would have helped you any way I could have." He felt his anger ebb, but only a bit. "Is he hurt?"

"No, of course not," Thrask said earnestly. "I am sorry for any distress we caused you or your friends." He gestured to Grace. "Let Anders go, please."

"No!" Grace snarled, turning to him. "He dies. Then the Champion. What good was he when we were recaptured? What good were _you_ for that matter, Thrask? We barely had three days on the run before Karras picked us back up. It ends here!"

"Stand down, Grace," Thrask said, hand on his sword pommel. "We won't kill innocent people to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith."

"Meredith," Grace snapped. "What do I care for Meredith? It's the Champion I want. He lives freely as Meredith's guard dog while we suffer in the Circle."

"Grace-" Hawke started.

"Decimus was right," Grace said, looking at Hawke now, her eyes full of pain and anger and hatred. "There is no way for a mage to live by the Chantry's laws. You killed the best man I ever met. But I learned all he had to teach. Alain," she said, sharply turning to the boy, who was cowering a bit. "Do it. We'll see how the Champion feels to see _his_ lover die in front of his eyes."

"Alain," Hawke said warningly, electricity crackling at his fingertips.

"I… I don't know, Grace," Alain said, looking at the unconscious form of Anders, back to Hawke, then to Grace. "The Champion tried to help us. He's no more Meredith's crony than Thrask is."

"Don't defy me, boy!" Grace snapped, backhanding Alain hard, causing him to topple into the sand. "If you're too squeamish, I'll do it myself."

"No!" Thrask said, hurrying to help Alain up. "No one here has to die."

Grace slipped a knife from her pocket and Thrask leapt up to wrestle it away from her. The other Templars and mages backed away from the scuffle, not wanting to get involved. Alain slid back against the sand, scrambling to his feet. Grace and Thrask fell to the ground, Thrask landing hard on top of her. There was a jerk, and then Grace laughed. Thrask knelt up.

"You fool," she whispered, clutching the knife that was protruding from her stomach. She laughed again, louder this time, her skin glowing, cracks of red showing through as she raised her palms.

Hawke felt the foul blood magic permeate the air. With a cry, he leapt forward, but Grace was quicker. Thrask's body shot up ten feet into the air, back bending like a bow, then with a sickening _crack_ he folded in two. Grace yanked the knife from her stomach and the wound healed instantly, blood rising up, circling around her. Thrask fell to the sand and Grace immediately turned to Hawke.

Fenris leapt forward, knocking Hawke to the ground as Grace hurled a tendril of blood toward him. Merrill's palm shot out, absorbing it.

"Oh, a kindred spirit," Grace said. "Alain, you'd do well to learn from her."

Merrill stood, palms together elbows out, eyes darkening. Thunder rumbled from above and lightning streaked across the sky. "I am not your kin, human," she said, calmly. "You tried to hurt my friends."

Grace's smile faded, her body stiffening. She stepped forward with a jerk, arms bent at an odd angle, and Hawke who was moving out of the way, pulling Fenris with him, realized that Merrill was commanding her movements. He'd only seen this once before, when Huon used it on Nyssa.

"Hawke," Merrill said, voice steady. "What would you have me do with her?"

Hawke swallowed hard. He looked from Grace, who was being held up like a puppet on strings, to Alain, who was cowering, to the other mages and Templars who were looking at Hawke, waiting. Then his eyes slid to Anders, still unconscious, curled on the ground, to Thrask, who lay crumpled and broken, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He stood, pulling Fenris to his feet as well, and turned to Merrill.

"Give her a merciful death."

Merrill nodded. She twisted her hands, and Grace merely fell to the ground silently, unmoving. Her skin returned to normal, the red cracks fading. The oncoming storm seemed to stop, the wind calming, the rumbling of thunder and streaks of lightning coming to a slow end. Hawke reached out, squeezing Merrill's shoulder. 

Merrill nodded toward Anders. "Go."

Hawke jogged to Anders, kneeling down. If his body hadn't been so warm, Hawke would have thought he was dead. A shadow fell over him and he looked up. Alain stood there, trembling, looking at him sorrowfully.

"I… I can wake him. I just… Grace, she used blood magic to hold him. I never wanted any of this, Champion, I swear. And Thrask…"

"I'll explain it all to the Knight-Commander, Alain. Just… please wake him."

Alain nodded, taking out a small knife. He rolled up his sleeve, slit his wrist, and let several drops of blood fall onto Anders' cheek. They waited, Hawke pulling Anders into his lap. He stirred slowly, groaning, lifting a hand to his forehead, then opened his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

The last thing he remembered was the floor of his clinic. When he opened his eyes, Anders was in Hawke's arms, looking up at him. It was night, but he was outside, and he wondered if he'd been attacked. He felt sore and stiff as if he'd been lying very still for a long time. If he had been knocked out, he assumed there would be a wound, but his instinctive healing magic did not alert him to anything wrong with his body. Confused, he lay there for a moment, contemplating the look on Hawke's face. The anger he'd felt with Hawke was still there, latent in his chest, but there was something in Hawke's eye…

"I'm so glad you're okay," Hawke whispered, leaning down, kissing him on the forehead.

"How… what happened?" Anders asked, which seemed the logical question, of course. He struggled to sit up and managed it with Hawke's help. He looked around, recognizing the Wounded Coast, and realized they were surrounded by Templars. He froze momentarily, eyes widening, and grabbed his staff which was just in reach.

Hawke touched his hand. "It's okay. They're not here for us. We're not in any danger."

"I don't remember…"

"It's a long story," Hawke said, helping him to his feet.

Anders swayed a bit, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He looked at the Templars, the mages in Kirkwall's Circle robes, then glanced behind him. "Is that… Oh. Thrask," he whispered. He felt a wash of iciness in his gut. His eyes went from him to Grace, who lay next to him. "Hawke." His irritation with Hawke would have to be put aside for now. He wanted answers.

"Grace killed Thrask," Hawke explained. "She wanted-"

The clanking of plate made Anders look up. Hawke immediately stepped in in front of him, reaching back to grip his wrist. Anders shivered at the contact. The odd juxtaposition of emotion made him feel weaker than his sore muscles did. And the approaching troop of Templars did nothing to improve his mood. He recognized the Knight-Captain and thought the man next to him, dressed in plain light leather armor, seemed familiar.

"They're meeting here, Ser Cullen – Oh!" the man said, sneering at Hawke. "Guess you didn't get on so well with these mages as you thought?"

"Champion," Cullen said carefully, surveying the scene. "Samson never said you were involved in this."

Anders remembered. Samson, the ex-Templar that forced mages to pay for his help. He focused on that anger the memory brought. Though there was still a lot that needed to be explained to him, holding onto that feeling helped to keep his head clear for now.

"I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them?" Cullen continued.

Hawke dropped Anders' wrist and folded his arms, but before he could say anything, Alain stepped forward. Anders had a flash of remembrance, Alain in the clinic, apologizing. Grace putting him under some sort of blood magic hold.

"The Champion's a good man, ser. He tried to resolve things peacefully," Alain pleaded.

Cullen frowned, then sighed, turning to a lieutenant. "Put the mage to questioning."

"Alain," Hawke said. "His name is Alain."

Cullen's frown deepened. "Alain. And the others. And you three," he said, pointing at the Templars, who all looked as if they'd rather be anywhere else.

"Knight-Captain," Hawke said. "I believe they were all being held under Grace's blood magic. When I arrived, she'd already cut herself. Thrask tried to stop her, but…"

Samson opened his mouth in a surprised expression. "That ain't-"

"The entire story," Hawke cut him off. "Years ago, I killed Grace's lover. He was a blood mage. She got away in the tussle. Karras will tell you the story. She sought revenge on me by kidnapping Anders. I think I got here only just in time."

Samson started to speak again, but Cullen raised a hand. "Is that all, Champion?"

Hawke looked around, and Anders could tell Hawke was lying. He never really had been very good at it to begin with. But he could also tell it was a lie that needed to be told, and the Knight-Captain seemed eager to believe it. The other Templars and mages were nodding in agreement, trying to look as if this hadn't been news to them.

"Anyone else have anything to add?" Hawke asked. When they were silent, he looked back to Cullen. "I believe Samson was following them. Perhaps an overinflated sense of self-worth made him think he could take on a blood mage."

Samson scowled. "I'll show you self-worth."

Cullen motioned to his men. "Take them back to the Gallows, have them looked over by the Healers. I'll report this to the Knight-Commander in the morning. Samson, thank you for your assistance. I'll see that you're rewarded. You should head back to Kirkwall with the rest. The Wounded Coast is not safe at night."

"But Knight-Captain."

"Thank you, citizen," Cullen said again, sharply.

Samson glared, but did as he was told. A few minutes later and Cullen stood alone, looking over their group. Anders kept his face impassive as Cullen's gaze turned to him, then back to Hawke.

"I know there's more to the story you're not telling me, Champion," Cullen said tiredly. "But as it seems you've seen fit to give an excuse that the Knight-Commander will believe, I'll see to it that's what goes in the official reports. I hesitate to even imagine what the actual cause of this was, if Samson was telling the truth."

"We all keep secrets for different reasons, Knight-Captain," Hawke said. "But I would hate to see what Meredith would do if she learned the full truth of things."

Cullen nodded. "I'll have someone deal with the bodies and see to it that Thrask gets a proper funeral." Unexpectedly, he crossed his arms over his chest and bowed, Fereldan-style to Hawke, then hurried after the others.

"That was most unpleasant," Fenris said, and Anders rankled.

"Yes, I suppose that's one way of putting it," Anders said. Now they were alone, his anger returned almost in full force and he stepped away from Hawke.

"Merrill, it would please me if you would allow me to escort you to the alienage," Fenris said tersely.

Merrill tilted her head, confused for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh! Oh right, okay," she said, understanding. She waved to Hawke and Anders and followed Fenris up the path.

Anders frowned. It was almost a… nice gesture. From Fenris. "Just what exactly did I miss?" he asked, turning to Hawke.

Hawke looked down at the ground, at Thrask and Grace. He moved their bodies out of view of the main path, tucking them near a rock. "I'll explain it on the way."

Anders fell into step next to him and listened as Hawke explained the meeting with Orsino, how mages were escaping the Gallows and running away. How it turned out to be an elaborate scheme to overthrow Meredith. That he, Anders, had been kidnapped because of a miscommunication that turned out to be Grace's plan all along. How she wanted to kill him. He worked out from what Hawke said that he lost two full days to her thrall.

"I never thought of myself to be a damsel in distress," Anders muttered finally.

"I'm sorry."

"For saving my life?" Anders asked. "I hardly think you need to apologize for-"

"For what happened with Fenris. And after."

"Ah."

They continued in silence, and Hawke's head hung low. Anders thought he'd never seen him look so defeated. He wanted to hold onto his anger, and he did. In fact, it lasted almost all the way back to Kirkwall until finally he took Hawke's hand. Hawke looked down, and Anders pulled them to a stop.

"I'm still upset," Anders explained. "And I think perhaps… I mean, thank you for saving my life. But Hawke, do you really think this is a good idea?"

"What?" Hawke asked.

Anders hesitated. When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper, a heaviness in his chest. "Us."

Hawke stared at him, expressionless for a moment. Anders shifted his weight, folded his arms, and waited. A muscle in Hawke's cheek twitched. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

"You want to leave me," Hawke said finally, his tone lifeless, dead.

"I simply think…" Anders started, trying for the words. "I think you'd be better off without me. Without having to worry about me in your way. Our paths are going to split soon. Surely you can see that. Kirkwall's going to change in a big way. You'll have to make difficult decisions. I think it would be easier for you-"

"Don't you dare."

"Pardon?" Anders asked, confused by the statement. He expected Hawke to get angry, definitely. But he thought maybe Hawke would argue, or worse, agree with him. This was an altogether different reaction.

"I thought about this," Hawke said. "When we were apart. I thought maybe you would want to end it. But you're hiding behind this excuse, saying it's better for _me_ if we end it. Don't do that. Tell me what you want because you want it, not because you think that I'd be better off without you. _That_ decision belongs to me," he finished with a growl.

Years ago, Anders might have taken a step back at the intensity in Hawke's words, the expression on his face. He saw what was behind it. Sadness. Desperation. A man who'd lost more than he'd gained, despite his riches, despite his house and nobility. And Anders would hurt him worse than ever, sooner than later. He'd lost two days, and he needed to move his plan forward now. 

"So," Hawke continued. "Do you make the decision for yourself? Is this what you want?"

Anders looked down, staring at the sand, wrapping his arms around himself. Despite it all, he still loved Hawke, was still _in_ love with him. And Hawke felt the same for him. If he was going to go through with this, he would accept the consequences good or ill. In the end, he knew he was going to hurt Hawke. It was just a matter of when. And a very selfish part of him wanted to cling to happiness, to the illusion that he and Hawke were content, that it was just the two of them.

_It's like how Karl and I used to pretend we were the only ones in the world._

When Hawke reached up, cupping his cheek, Anders relaxed, gripping his wrist, and shook his head. "I want to stay with you," he whispered.

Hawke closed the distance between them and Anders was glad. His knees were shaking and he didn't think he could move on his own. He was wrapped in Hawke's warm embrace, enjoying his kiss. For that moment, all that existed for Anders was himself and Hawke, and it was overwhelming. In a day or two, or next week, it could all come spiraling out of control to a chaotic end. He trembled to think how Hawke would react once he understood what Anders had to do. And would he understand?

He was breathless when they parted, hands against Hawke's chest, and actually smiled when Hawke leaned his forehead against his. "I love you."

"I love you," Hawke replied. "Come on. It's late and I've missed you next to me."

Anders allowed himself to be tugged up to Hightown, gripping Hawke's hand tightly. The fires in the estate were lit and it was warm inside. Hawke order the dog off the bed, and Anders relented, scratching the mabari behind the ears before scooping up the kitten.

"Hawke," he asked, watching as Hawke started to get undressed.

"Hm."

"If anything were to happen to me, would you take care of Duchess?"

Hawke turned to look at him, tossing his robes and tunic in the corner. "No."

Anders frowned. "Why not?"

"Because if something were to happen to you, I would avenge you. Or die trying. I'll make sure Orana takes care of her, though. She's fond of cats."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Hawke said. He pulled off his boots and walked around the bed to pull Anders into another kiss. "Losing you would kill me. I would stop at nothing to keep you safe. Even if it means taking a blow meant for you."

"My life isn't worth that."

"Yes it is."

Anders sighed, dropping Duchess to the sheets and undressed. He slid into bed next to Hawke, relaxing as he sunk into the mattress. Hawke was immediately at his side, leg over his own, arm over his chest. He wrapped an arm around Hawke, gently stroking the backs of his fingers over his shoulder.

"I love you," Hawke muttered against skin.

Anders smiled slightly, and felt the weight of Duchess above his head on the pillow. "I love you, too."

A few minutes later and Hawke was asleep, snoring lightly. Anders closed his eyes, trying not to think about anything but the feeling of Hawke against him.

_You should have left him._

He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his free hand up to rub at his forehead.

_He's never going to forgive you for what you have to do._

"Stop," he whispered, almost desperate.

_And even if he forgives you, he'll never stay with you._

Though his eyes were closed, he could feel tears welling.

_But you know he won't forgive you. More likely he'll just…_

"Please."

_Kill you._

"Justice."

But he couldn't tell if the thoughts were his or Justice's. It terrified him. His chest ached as he held back a sob. Hawke gave a snore and rolled over, away from him. Anders immediately flipped to his stomach, Duchess huffing as she was displaced, moving under the covers in the warm space between their bodies. Anders let out a shaking breath before breathing in again, holding it.

_And you would let him._

He heard Hawke shift around a bit more and the snoring tapered off. Anders clutched the pillow which was wet now with tears, and curled up. Tomorrow he would get the things he needed, assemble the magic. By nightfall, he'd sneak into the Chantry. And a few hours later, it would be done. His fate would be decided. Would Hawke be the one to do it? Would he let Meredith do it? Or Orsino? Or even more insulting, Fenris. Merrill would call him a hypocrite. Aveline would demand he be locked up. And Varric… He had to talk to Varric. Hawke claimed he'd seek vengeance on those responsible for hurting or killing himself, but what if Hawke was that person? Would he take care of Duchess? It was such a stupid thing to worry about the fate of a cat when his own hung in the balance. Varric would understand. Varric would find a good home for Duchess.

Fearful and overwrought, he fell into a restless sleep born from sheer exhaustion.

-

In the morning, Hawke was gone. For a split second, Anders thought perhaps Hawke changed his mind, and the ambivalence he felt made him sick. But there was a note on Hawke's pillow.

_A,_

_Went to talk to Orsino. Have breakfast. There's a surprise in the storage room for you. I'm meeting my cousin for lunch (I'll tell you all about her later – Gamlen has a daughter, can you believe it?). After, I'll be around for whatever you need._

_Love,_

_G_

Anders frowned, rubbing his eyes, his tear-streaked face uncomfortable and stiff. Pulling on a dressing gown he went first to take care of that, washing up and then dressing in fresh clothing. He felt almost good, but the weight of the future hung heavily in his chest, and he managed only a few bites of some thin fried bread and jam before he felt sick again. The estate had three storage rooms, and Anders found nothing in the first two he checked, and recoiled at the smell in the third.

"Maker, Hawke, what did you get me? Something that died last week?"

But as he opened the two bags, he realized with a jolt in his stomach that Hawke had gotten him the two last ingredients that he needed. He was overjoyed, but it came with a burning guilt. Had Hawke collected them because he was trying to make up for their fight? He shoved away the guilt and took up both bags. Then, feeling like he shouldn't simply run off again, he told Bodahn to let Hawke know he'd be in his clinic for the day. He hurried down through the basement and locked the clinic doors behind him.

Dropping the bags on a table, he went to his desk, and frowned. His papers had been moved, books shifted aside. A note from Hawke lay on top and he realized that Hawke must've written it the morning after their fight, looking for him. He stared at it a moment, then carefully folded it, placing it with his other papers. The instructions for assembly were tucked in the back of the Tevinter tome and almost reverently he pulled it free. Rolling up his sleeves, he began.

He'd always enjoyed creating things. Mixing potions, adding twists here and there to it. It was cathartic to grind herbs, working the pestle, adding just the right amount of water, just the right amount of venom. He shredded the deathroot, holding his breath so as not to breathe in the fumes and watched as his creation turned from a whitish grey to a dark blue as he stirred. The sela petrae went in next, Anders coughing at the smell.

_He collected this for you._

And then a touch of spindleweed. It masked the stench. The drakestone was added at three different intervals, and he used the time that it had to sit to write out several letters. One was to Lirine, thanking her for everything she'd done. One was to Varric, which he tucked inside the pillow his mother embroidered for him. And the last was for Hawke. He managed only a short letter, but hoped it would be enough.

_My Love,_

_If you're reading this, I am dead. By your hand or not, I could not say. I hope that you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for doing what had to be done. Thank you for standing by me. For loving me. For being a steadfast and true friend, despite whatever happens between us in the end. I don't blame you for whatever decision you made. I know that you'll do what is right and what is just._

_I didn't deserve someone like you in my life. Not after all is said and done, after everything I've had to do. I have had no regrets except one. That I could not tell you what it truly meant to have someone like you at my side, with me, loving me. But I think - I hope - you know._

_If I can ask one more favor of you, my love, that is to not mourn my life. I've given it for the greater good of all magekind. I only hope my life is enough to give for so worthy a cause._

_Please, Garrett, forget about me, and live your life._

_I love you always._

_Anders_

Wiping his eyes, he folded the letter into thirds and melted a bit of candlewax for the seal. He tucked it inside his coat pocket. When the time came, he would give it to Hawke and hope he read it. With a sigh, he finished the last and final step, infusing it with the bit of magic he would need to set it off at the right time. Carefully, he wrapped it and placed it in his pouch. That finished, he stowed away the extra ingredients, leaving the storage cupboard unlocked. Hesitating over his next decision, he placed the Tevinter tomes on the metal examination table, staring at them.

_If you don't, and they fall into the wrong hands…_

He winced and set them on fire quickly before he lost the nerve to do it. The fire consumed both books and his notes. He dumped the ashes down the sewer and looked around. His manifesto lay neatly on his desk. He tied the papers together and put them with his mother's pillow. The clinic was clean and well suited for its next inhabitant. He'd just finished when there was a knock at the door.

Frowning, deciding it was probably Hawke, he opened it slowly and looked. "Varric?"

"Hey, Blondie. Hawke told me what happened so I thought I'd check up on you."

Anders stepped aside, letting him in. "I'm fine, Varric, thank you."

Varric strode in, looking around. "Last minute spring cleaning?" he asked.

"I'm glad you're here, actually," Anders said, ignoring the question. "I have something for you, and a request."

"Name it. You sure you're all right? You seem a little… Well. I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of being held by a blood mage, but I can't imagine it's a nice feeling. Want a drink? My treat."

"It's always your treat, Varric," Anders said, affection in his tone. He took up his manifesto and the pillow.

"We're having a get together tonight at the Hanged Man. You know it's been six years almost to the day that we all met?"

Anders paused. "Has it?"

"Mmhm. Six years of hanging around with you chuckleheads. What's this?" he asked, as Anders handed him the packet of papers.

"My manifesto. I was wondering if you could find a publisher. Not now. But in the future. Maybe a month or two." He doubted saying 'After I die,' was a good idea. 

Varric frowned, looking at the papers in his hands. "You sure you want your name on them?"

"It's important that mages have someone they can identify with. Who knows their struggle. Please." His name wouldn't mean much after he was gone, but it would mean more if the manifesto wasn't anonymous.

Varric tucked them away in his coat. "All right. And that?"

Anders hesitated, then said, "I wanted you to have this."

"A… pillow?" Varric asked, eyebrow raised.

"Hand embroidered by my mother," Anders said with a sad smile. "It's the only thing of hers they let me keep when I went to the Circle." He offered it to Varric, who did not take it.

Varric frowned. "Why in the name of Andraste would you give that to me?"

"You've been a good friend, Varric," Anders said gently, hoping Varric didn't ask him to elaborate further.

Varric shook his head, pushing it back toward him. "Nuh-uh. You keep your pillow, Blondie. And may you have many more dreams of killing Templars on it."

"I…"

"Tonight, Hanged Man. I'll make sure Hawke drags you."

"Make sure I do what?" Hawke asked, pushing the door open further, coming in.

"Make sure you show up for the celebration tonight," Varric replied, turning. "And talk to your boyfriend, he's getting a bit maudlin," he added, shaking his head as he left.

Hawke looked at Anders quizzically. "Maudlin? Everything all right?"

Anders clutched the pillow before tucking it back into his bag. He'd find a way to get it and the letter to Varric. After all, it told a story, and Varric was his best hope that his story was told fairly. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired."

"If you're sure," Hawke said gently. When Anders merely shrugged, Hawke continued. "What do you say to a royal visit?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Royal visit?"

Hawke handed him a slip of paper. Anders opened it and read.

_Champion,_

_Meet me in the Keep._

_King Alistair_

Anders' eyes widened. "King Alistair?"

"Apparently I'm important enough for royal visitors," Hawke said, sounding pleased with himself. "You'll come?"

"Of course. I… need a favor," he said, handing the note back to Hawke. "If you'll allow me."

Hawke nodded. "Anything."

When Anders spoke, it was in a quiet, careful tone. "If I ask you this, you need to trust me. I can't say why I need this favor, only that you'll be helping me more than I could possibly say. Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Hawke said, smile fading. "Are you in trouble? Did something happen this morning?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Anders assured him. He hated the concerned look on Hawke's face. It hurt him to have to lie to him, to keep the truth from him. But it would only be a little longer. "Just something I need to do. The last part. I need to get into the Chantry without being seen. Will you talk to the Grand Cleric for me? Distract her long enough for me to do what needs to be done?"

"You're worrying me," Hawke said, reaching out.

Anders took his hands quickly, gripping them. "Please."

Hawke leaned forward to kiss him gently. "You do what you need to do."

Surprise and relief flooded through him. Relief that Hawke agreed, and surprise that he didn't ask why. He felt that small spark of guilt alight once more and tamped down on it. "I do not deserve your love."

Hawke kissed him again, pulling him close, one hand sliding behind his neck. Anders returned it desperately. Hawke grunted in surprise at the enthusiasm, stumbling as Anders pushed him back into the clinic's door. It shut with a _click_. Anders tilted his head, deepening the kiss, needing to remember this, to burn the taste of Hawke into his memory. It might be the last time they shared such intimacy. If it were so, he wanted to hold onto it so it would be there when his life flashed before his eyes.

Hawke groaned, lips parting, and surrendered as Anders pressed his tongue inside his mouth. Anders tasted a sweetness, a wine perhaps that Hawke had with lunch or maybe a fruit he'd eaten. Hawke sucked tentatively on his tongue, hands moving to the clasps on Anders' coat. Anders pushed them away and pulled back.

"I-" Anders panted. "I'm sorry."

Hawke's lips were slightly swollen, eyes half-lidded. "What? Why… why did you stop?" He was almost pouting.

"You would not thank me if we continued. Your king is waiting," Anders reminded him.

"My what?" Hawke asked, confused. He reached again for the buckle of Anders' coat.

"King Alistair. He's waiting in the Keep." Anders took a firm hold of his hand.

"Anders, you can't kiss me like that and then talk about such nonsense. I would keep the entirety of all the royal families in Thedas plus the Divine herself waiting if it meant being with you."

Anders smiled despite himself. "I…"

"King Alistair is in Hightown. Your cot is ten feet away."

Hawke looked at him earnestly, begging him without words. He couldn't say no to Hawke, not after Hawke agreed to help him without question. And part of him, the very selfish part, wanted it too. He nodded, locking the door, and allowed Hawke to pull him across the room toward the cot.

-

It was late in the afternoon, almost dark by the time they made it to the Keep, Anders removed his personal effects from the clinic and deposited them at the estate where they stopped by for a quick wash. Anders tried to heal the bruises on both himself and Hawke, but Hawke complained, stating that he was rather fond of the marks Anders left on him. Anders reminded him again that Hawke was representing himself, Kirkwall, and mages to the king of Ferelden. In the end, Hawke agreed to let Anders heal the ones that were visible, and they entered the Keep to angry shouts.

"Three mages have fled to Ferelden, and you have intervened to protect them as if it is your right to do so. What other answer did you expect, your Majesty?"

Anders frowned. He'd met the king once before, a long time ago in Amaranthine. He looked a bit older now, a bit more tired. "Sounds like Meredith's having a grand time," he said, watching as the Knight-Commander glared angrily at King Alistair.

"A "maybe" might have been nice," Alistair said easily.

"I do not deal in "maybes"," Meredith snapped. "I deal in cold, hard facts – as should you. Perhaps when Ferelden next chooses a king, it will be one that takes his duty to the Maker seriously."

She stormed out, angry enough that she overlooked Hawke and Anders who'd moved back with the small crowd of people who were watching the fight. Hawke looked at Anders, who shrugged, and they approached.

"Well that was awkward," Alistair was saying to the man next to him. He turned and smiled at Hawke and Anders as they stepped up.

"That's just Meredith's idea of Kirkwall hospitality," Hawke said. "Don't mind her."

Alistair let out a short laugh. "Really? Kirkwall brutality must rip the skin off your face, then."

The man next to Alistair sighed long sufferingly. "This is the Champion of Kirkwall, your Majesty," he said, nudging Alistair a bit.

Alistair looked back to Hawke, eyes widening in recognition finally. "Oh, right! I'm Alistair," he said, offering his hand, and as an afterthought added, "King of Ferelden."

Hawke shook it, and Anders smirked a bit at Hawke's amused expression. Perhaps in another life, they might have been drinking buddies. He could easily see Alistair in the Hanged Man drunk off the swill they served, singing songs with Hawke. A sharp pang of nostalgia was followed by the pain of knowing he'd never see that merriment again. Alistair was introducing the man next to him, Teagan. Who was his uncle… sort of.

"We met in Orlais," Teagan said. "At Duke Prosper's hunt."

"I remember," Hawke said. "It's good to see you again."

"And you," Teagan said.

"I'm just glad your only memory of me won't include me wearing a ridiculous looking doublet."

"I liked that outfit," Anders said quietly, causing Hawke to smile.

"I was hoping we could talk," Alistair cut in. "Would've been better timing before being emasculated by Meredith, but I'm not picky."

Hawke grinned. "I've been playing her errand boy for three years now."

"Oh?"

"I don't believe the staff is just for decoration, your Majesty," Teagan provided.

Alistair's eyes flicked up to Hawke's staff. "Oh! Right. You're a mage," he said, without a hint of disgust in his tone. "I knew that."

Anders thought it was nice, the word 'mage' spoken by royalty without any derision. "You were having an argument with Meredith about mages?" he prompted.

Alistair looked to him. "Yes, well, apparently I don't feel the same way about mages as the Chantry does." He frowned. "You look… familiar."

Hawke looked back at Anders. "Someone else from your past?"

"Nothing like that," Anders muttered. "King Alistair was there when I was conscripted into the Wardens."

"Oh I remember!" Alistair said, pointing at him a bit. "You helped save a lot of lives. How did you end up in Kirkwall?"

"Your Majesty," Teagan prompted.

Alistair glanced at him, then changed the subject. "Right, mages. Well. The Chantry and I are in a bit of a disagreement. So that means they get nasty. They're like that."

Hawke frowned. "Sounds like the Circle's better off in Ferelden than here."

"It's still not a place you'd want to take a vacation. But sadly no, I don't control the Circle. I can only deal with the mages outside the Circle… of which there aren't many."

"Different story here," Hawke admitted.

"Case in point, am I right?" Alistair asked with a chuckle. "Two mages here in the Keep. One of them Champion, the other…"

"My lover," Hawke answered easily.

There was a slight, uncomfortable silence as Anders felt himself blush. Alistair's eyebrows raised, looking back and forth from him to Hawke. He cleared his throat.

"Why don't you just kick the Templars out?" Hawke prompted, when it was clear the moment had become sufficiently awkward. "They're in your kingdom after all."

"Ferelden was able to kick out the Grey Wardens at one point," Anders offered.

"Not exactly the same thing," Alistair admitted. "And the Wardens are back now, thank the Maker," he added, nodding at Anders. "Anyway, it's easier said than done."

It was extremely odd, Anders thought. Alistair was treating them both like normal people. With respect. He'd known Alistair was a strange king when he first met him, and had been pleased when he overrode Ser Rylock's decision to arrest him at Vigil's Keep for being an apostate.

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't try," Anders said.

"We'll see what comes of it," said Alistair in a tone that made Anders think he meant it, and wasn't just blowing him off. "Ferelden had a Blight to contend with. We're not exactly at our strongest."

"A lot of your people fled to Kirkwall," Hawke said.

"I know," Alistair sighed. "I wish I could have helped them. The Blight devastated the kingdom, and afterwards… well, it hasn't exactly been peaceful. They're welcome back, of course," he added. "As are you. But after so many years away, would you still consider it home?"

Hawke looked back to Anders, who lowered his eyes. He felt Hawke reach out, gently squeeze his hand, then turn back to Alistair. "Ferelden will always be my home. But I have a life here, your Majesty. Maybe someday."

"Good. We could use someone like you, Champion. I was actually hoping that your influence here in Kirkwall might be of use. Things… haven't been going well with Orlais. Without a viscount here, however, there's only the Knight-Commander to deal with, and you saw how well that went…"

"What's going on with Orlais?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Attempted assassinations, uprisings. Fancy parties with stinky cheeses." Alistair grinned at his own joke, and Teagan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hawke smirked. "But is there to be a war?"

"Maker, I hope not!" Alistair exclaimed. "But… apparently some Orlesians think it would be grand to get their lost province back."

"Well, we won't let them swoop down on us, your Majesty." Teagan interjected.

"That's right," Alistair said, nodding. "Swooping is bad."

"Do you really think there's anything I can do?" Hawke asked, and Anders could hear a slight note of pride in his voice.

"Sadly it may be too late. Meredith got wind of my arrival sooner than I expected."

Hawke pursed his lips and Anders recognized the slightly guilty look. He reached forward this time and squeezed his hand. Thankfully, the king either didn't notice or didn't comment.

"What you can do," Alistair continued, "is protect Kirkwall. It will take someone like you to keep it all from falling apart."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Protect it from what, exactly?"

"If you ask me," Alistair said, lowering his voice, "the biggest threat just walked out the door."

"You don't know the half of it," Hawke muttered.

"We should be getting back," Alistair sighed. "I wish this could've been more of a social visit. Maybe next time."

He offered Hawke his hand again, and Hawke shook it firmly. Then, to Anders' surprise and pleasure, Alistair reached out to him as well, and they shook hands.

"Take care of one another," Alistair said, with a nod. "In times like this, those bonds are important."

They watched him leave, Hawke crossing his arms. "Huh. I never thought I'd meet the King of Ferelden. Furthermore, I never thought he'd be like _that_."

"Like what?"

"Normal."

Anders smiled. "Compared to you, love, everyone's normal."

Hawke slung an arm around his shoulder. "You could say that, I suppose." He pulled Anders out of the Keep. "Still. It's nice to think that we could return to Ferelden and be treated with respect. And not have to bow and scrape to an eccentric Knight-Commander or a king with his head up his ass."

The smile faded from Anders' face as he leaned against Hawke. "I suppose."

"We don't have to," Hawke said quickly. "I know you don't have too many pleasant memories from there."

"We'll see what happens," Anders said, and realized Hawke was leading them to the Chantry. "Now?" he asked, surprised.

"I promised you."

Anders paused in trepidation as they entered. "I… I'll find you as soon as I'm done," he said, looking up at the large statue of Andraste, then turned to Hawke. "Thank you."

Hawke squeezed his hand and walked away. Anders waited until he saw that Hawke had the Grand Cleric's attention, then slipped down a side door. It was easy enough to find the passage to the dusty basement. He thought it was a cruel bit of irony that his relationship with Hawke really started in the Chantry and would likely end in the same place. The clinic where they shared their first kiss would be the same place they last made love. Perhaps he would visit that alley where they first met and say a final goodbye. But that would be a bit fatalistic, even for himself.

Standing back, he looked at his work, and nodded resolutely. It was done. There was no going back now.

_The mages will be free._

Anders wiped his hands on his coat, feeling anxious.

_We will be at peace._

The anxiety disappeared. Justice was with him. They would get through this. It would be done.

Taking a breath, he hurried back upstairs and found Hawke where he'd left him. "There you are!" he said. "I've been looking for you all over. Varric says the celebration's starting." He looked at Elthina. "Grand Cleric."

Elthina looked at him. "Your soul is troubled, child. I hope you found a balm for it here."

"Your Grace," Hawke said, and allowed Anders to pull him out. "Did it go all right?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. Thank you. Shall we go to the Hanged Man, then?"

"You'll tell me about it… right?" Hawke asked. "Someday, maybe?"

Anders gripped his arm more tightly now. "Yes. I promise. You'll know."

They traveled the rest of the way to the Hanged Man in silence, and upon entering Varric's suite, were greeted by the others. Even Aveline deigned to come with Donnic.

"We just popped the first bottle of champagne!" Varric said, waving them in.

But just as they sat down to join the festivities, a dockworker ran in, out of breath. "Champion!"

Hawke looked over, frowning. "What is it?"

He shoved a letter into Hawke's hand. Anders read over his shoulder.

_Champion,_

_You have proven yourself a friend to Kirkwall's mages and it seems I must call upon you once again. Meredith has gone too far, and I will not let her madness remain unchecked. I ask that you come to the Gallows at once. Perhaps together we can stop this before there is bloodshed._

_First Enchanter Orsino_

"Orsino gave this to you?" Hawke asked the dockworker.

"He did. He started yelling at the Knight-Commander after; they were fighting in the courtyard. I heard them screaming at each other from the harbor. Sounds like the First Enchanter wanted to talk to the Grand Cleric."

Hawke took up his staff, looking around the room. "One last adventure before we celebrate?" he asked hopefully.

Anders watched with a sense of pride as everyone stood to follow Hawke, gathering their weapons just in case. 

Hawke turned to him with a wink. "Ready for some action?"

Anders nodded. "More than I'll ever be, love."


	8. Chapter 8

They didn't have to go far to find Meredith and Orsino, quite a few Templars and Circle mages gathered behind their respective leaders. Orsino was shouting and Meredith was talking over him, though thankfully weapons hadn't been drawn yet.

"I will have the tower searched!" Meredith declared. "From top to bottom!"

"You cannot do that!" Orsino shouted, pointing at her, though he wasn't quite jabbing his finger into her plated chest. "You have no right!"

Aveline whispered something to Donnic, who nodded and headed off quickly. Around them, Lowtown residents were gathering slowly, watching the argument with rapt interest. It wasn't every night that the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter had a shouting match where they could listen in. Hawke paused a few feet away, putting a hand out for the rest of them to stop. Anders looked up through the dark night, at the looming tower of the chantry far above them.

"I have every right," Meredith snarled. "You are harboring blood mages, and I intend to root them out before they infect this city!"

"Bit late for that," Isabela muttered, seemingly amused by the entire affair.

As serious as the situation seemed, Anders had to admit that she was right. The increase in blood mages in the city over the years had grown alarmingly fast. But was it really surprising? The Templars cracking down the way they were, Meredith forcing good mages, mages who weren't even remotely tempted by demons, into corners. He didn't agree with their choices, but he couldn't blame them for simply trying to stay alive.

"Blood magic!" Orsino scoffed, throwing his arms in the air, face twisted in disgust. "Where do you not see blood magic? My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption!"

Behind Orsino, several of the mages were nodding in agreement. A few Templars shifted, hands on the pommels of their swords. Anders saw Carver with them, and reached forward to grip Hawke by the arm. Hawke had seem him too, fists clenched as he glared as his brother. He looked away from Carver, back to Meredith who was yelling again.

"Do not trifle with me, mage. My patience is at an end."

"A wonder that I never saw it began," Orsino said sarcastically.

Hawke, who apparently decided he'd had enough, stepped forward. "What's going on?" he asked, looking first to Orsino.

"Look who decided to show up," Carver said, eyes leveled at Hawke.

Hawke ignored him. "First Enchanter?"

Meredith interrupted, approaching Hawke, stopping just within arm's reach. "This does not involve you, Champion."

Anders never thought he'd hear those words coming from Meredith's mouth. All it had seemed for the last three years was Meredith wanting to involve Hawke, to use him, to prove to Kirkwall that even though Hawke was a free mage, he was still firmly under her thumb and in her pocket. That if the nobles wanted to keep their pet Champion, she would still be holding his leash.

"I called him here," Orsino said. "I think the people deserve to know just what you've done."

"What I have done," Meredith said quickly, turning to face Orsino again, "is protect the people of this city, time and time again."

"With quite a lot of Hawke's help," Isabela intoned, still with an air of unflappability.

Anders frowned. Isabela was right again, but he wished she would stay quiet. The crowd around them was abuzz, growing larger.

"What I have done," Meredith continued, still addressing Orsino, "is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity. And I will not stop doing it! I will not lower our guard! I dare not!" She was shouting again, reaching almost a fevered pitch as she made her declarations.

Anders felt his anger, Justice's anger rising. Meredith's hold on the city, her inability for compassion, Orsino's weakness. And here he was, standing there, listening to them have the same argument they've had time and time again. It was maddening. His chest tightened, and he slowly removed the gold aurum staff Hawke had given him years ago from his back. He would end the cycle here, tonight. He was ready.

Hawke looked to Orsino. "Are there more blood mages in the city? Why wasn't this reported? You both know I'd step in to take care of this."

Rage now, frustration and injustice. Anders closed his eyes, but Justice fought to surge forward. Hawke shouldn't be the one to hunt and track down blood mages. He shouldn't be a Templar pawn. There should be no price he should have to pay for his freedom. And the so called blood mages… Evelina, Huon – they never would've fallen to demons if it wasn't for Meredith's tyranny. Thrask would still be alive if Meredith hadn't squeezed the Circle, forcing them into secret meetings to overthrow her. And it was absolutely ridiculous how both she and Orsino used Hawke to settle their squabbles. Meredith blackmailing him into helping her hunt apostates, and Orsino hiding behind him, having Hawke make his arguments and fight his battles.

Orsino scoffed. "These are only her latest accusations, nothing more! And what if she doesn't find what she's looking for? How much further will she go to root out something that isn't there?"

Anders looked up as another group arrived. The Guard, Donnic's patrol, hurried down the stairs. Aveline nodded to him, and the guardsmen started pushing the crowd back. Anders noticed the way Meredith's Templars turned to keep their eyes on them. A dozen more Templars that had likely been alerted to the patrol turned the corner and came down the steps as well, and Sebastian was with them. Anders swallowed hard, gripping his staff. His palms were sweating, a nervous anticipation filling him.

"The Champion knows better than anyone how deep the Circle's corruption goes! I must find the source!" Meredith said, jabbing a finger into Orsino's chest, shoving him back.

Hawke frowned. "Are you being serious? Knight-Commander, this is insanity."

"What other option do we have?" Meredith asked, rounding on him. "Shall we look the other way? Tell the poor victims of a possessed mage that we meant no harm?" She stepped up to him again. "You've seen it with your own eyes what they can do. Haven't you heard the lies of mages who seek power?"

Anders couldn't believe it. Meredith was absolutely insane. She would stop at nothing now to see every mage imprisoned or worse. Perhaps even go through with Alrik's plan, make them all Tranquil.

Hawke crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders, barely a foot away now from her. "You push mages into a corner and give them no options, then blame them when they fight back. Some of us want peace, Meredith. Exactly what you want. We're not your enemy."

"You would cast us all as villains," Orsino said, reaching out and grabbing Meredith's arm. She stepped quickly away and Orsino gestured to Hawke. "Look at the Champion. He's been a sterling example for free mages. He wants what's best for Kirkwall."

_He wants what all mages deserve,_ Anders thought. _Peace. A chance at a normal life. Respect and compassion._

Meredith's expression softened. "I know, and it breaks my heart to do it," she said quietly. "But we must be vigilant." She turned back to Hawke. "If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant."

Orsino's shoulders slumped and he looked defeated. "This is getting us nowhere. Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this."

_No she won't,_ Anders thought. _She'll tell you everything is in the hands of the Maker. She'll preach patience while Meredith tightens her hold and you let her. She'll turn a blind eye on the suffering of the mages while the Templars continue their injustices. Nothing will change. Nothing will…_

"You will not bring her Grace into this!" Meredith said, yanking Orsino back away from the steps. 

He stumbled back and Hawke lurched forward to keep him from falling.

_It is time._

Anders swallowed hard and stepped forward. "The grand cleric cannot help you!"

Suddenly, all eyes were on him. He dared not look Hawke in the face, not now. The anxiety he felt earlier was climbing and he shook slightly as Meredith turned on him quickly, icy blue eyes flashing in anger and disgust.

"Explain yourself, mage," she demanded.

"I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages as criminals…" he said, voice rising. He knocked his staff against the ground, the end sparking. The start of the spell. He turned his glare on Orsino, who was looking at him, open-mouthed. "…while those who would lead us bow to their Templar jailers."

Orsino sputtered angrily. "How dare you speak to-"

Anders cut him off sharply. "The Circle has failed us, Orsino! Even you should be able to see that!" He knocked his staff down again, larger sparks now. The air grew stiflingly heavy. There was no turning back now. He felt Justice rise, saw as he gestured with his free hand the light blue cracks in his skin. "The time has come to act," he said, his voice deepening as Justice took hold. "There can be no half-measures." He took a breath and turned his back on them, stepping away. There was a faint rumbling in the distance.

_It is complete._

"Anders," Hawke whispered, reaching out, touching his arm. "What have you done?"

Anders pulled out of his grasp. The cracks in his skin had faded. Justice was calm, it felt like. No more anger. No more rage. He was there still, but at peace. "There can be no turning back," he whispered. 

He watched the rocks on the ground vibrate, then start to shake violently. The rumbling sound intensified, growing louder and louder now. An explosion unlike any other rocked the city, louder than even the strongest clap of thunder. The ground shook like an earthquake had hit, tossing several people off their feet as a brilliant red light filled the sky. The chantry burst apart with the force of the enchantment, bits of flaming rock peppering the city, the smell of fire and smoke and magic filling the air. 

Around him, people started screaming, running. Aveline was barking orders, and Donnic responded in turn. Meredith said something, Sebastian let out an anguished cry. But it was all muted to him. All he could hear now was the beating of his own heart, blood pounding in his ears. It was over. Meredith's hand was forced. Orsino's hand was forced. A decision would need to be made. And a war would start. Whether or not he would be there to see it end, it didn't matter. His fate wouldn't be determined by his own hand. His life had never been his own. He was the cause of mages. It was all he had left now. He would happily martyr himself for this purpose.

"There can be no peace," Anders said finally, turning back around.

"Why?" Orsino asked, looking at him, eyes wider than ever. "Why would you do such a thing?" he breathed.

"She would have been happy to do nothing," Anders explained. "A Chantry that favors sloth over action and you would agree to it. You would accept your fate, the fate of the Circle. So I've shouldered that burden for you instead, for all mages." He swallowed hard. "I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise," he finished.

"The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic," Meredith said evenly. "The chantry destroyed. How many innocents have been killed tonight by a mage?" She turned to address her Templars. "As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed – immediately."

_Now it begins._

Anders remained quiet as several voices spoke up at once. Orsino's pleas, Hawke's angry shouting, Sebastian's impassioned condemnation of him. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. This is what he thought would happen. Meredith would try to slaughter them. Orsino would be forced to fight. Even if by some miracle of the Maker Meredith saw reason, it would be too late. His actions were symbolic and they would take hold. Even if they were all killed here tonight, there would be no hiding this.

_"I would rather die a mage than live as a Templar puppet,"_ he heard Karl whisper. 

_I will have justice for you, Karl. For all mages who've suffered. For every single one of us made Tranquil, for all of us forced into hiding, for those whose families have been ripped apart and destroyed. I swear it, I will._

"Anders."

Hawke's voice. He listened.

"This… this was your plan?" Hawke spoke quietly.

Orsino's voice. "You fool! You've doomed us all!"

"You have to make a decision, Garrett," Anders heard himself say. "It cannot be stopped."

"It is your choice, Champion," Meredith said. "If you side with these traitors, you will die with them."

Silence.

Anders opened his eyes. Everyone was staring at Hawke, Templars and mages alike. Hawke looked to each of his friends. Anders could see Aveline's angry glare, Varric rubbing his temples, Isabela staring at the ground. Merrill had her hands clasped together in front of her, giving Hawke an encouraging nod. Fenris's arms were crossed, but his chin was up and he was looking at Hawke steadily. Hawke turned back to Meredith.

"See reason, Brother," Carver said, his tone devoid of any anger. He was pleading with Hawke, hand on his sword pommel. "I don't want to fight you."

Hawke looked at Orsino, then turned to the handful of mages gathered behind him. "I won't let her slaughter all of you," he said evenly. "We stand together, as kin."

"Thank the Maker," Orsino breathed.

Meredith scowled. "You will share their fate if you do this."

Hawke took his staff in hand, spinning it once easily. "Then so be it."

"You are a fool, Champion," Meredith said, eyes narrowed. She looked to a lieutenant. "I will rouse the rest of the Order." She turned away up the stairs toward Hightown, gesturing for Carver and two others to follow her. As she retreated, they all heard her order:

"Kill them all."

Anders immediately cast a shielding spell on Hawke, followed by haste. He heard Orsino shouting at his people to get to the Gallows, and Hawke unleashed a force wave of energy, shoving the Templars back, giving the mages enough time to run. The dozen or so Templars were no match for the combination of Hawke and Orsino as they attacked before cleansings could be cast. Isabela jumped into the fray, sinking one of her daggers into the vulnerable space between cuirass and helmet. Fenris moved ghost-like through the group, dodging a blow while delivering his own. It was a quick, furious fight that was over almost as fast as it had begun.

"So it's come this," Orsino muttered sadly, lifting a sleeve to wipe blood from his face. He looked at Hawke expectantly.

Anders looked out over the dead bodies of Templars, feeling cold and tired and resigned. He simply moved away from it all, settling down on an overturned crate. He laid his staff down next to him and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He could run. He could run right now and they would have a hell of a time catching him. He could avoid his fate. But he was tired of running. He'd been running since he was twelve, since his father handed him over to the Templars, since he'd been locked in the tower. He wouldn't run anymore. The mages needed a voice, they needed to be heard. So he waited.

Orsino continued, "I don't know if we can win this war, Champion, but… thank you." He paused. "I will leave your… friend for you to deal with. I must return to the Gallows to help my people. Meet me there as soon as you can, please."

Anders heard the heavy footfalls of Hawke's boots coming to stop behind him. He could feel the weight of his lover's stare. "There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself," he whispered. He took a breath, sitting up a little straighter. "I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited."

When Hawke spoke, it was in a quiet, almost hurt tone. "If you'd only told me…"

"I wanted to," Anders said, unable to look at him. "But… what if you stopped me?" He didn't know if that would have been the case. "Or worse, what if you wanted to help?" he added. "I couldn't let you do that." He couldn't have put this on Hawke's shoulders. This wasn't his burden to bear. Hawke would have a life after this. With Hawke fighting by their side, the mages would win. They would rise up. They'd have a proper leader in Hawke.

Hawke walked slowly around to face him, and Anders stared at his boots, the hem of his robes.

"The world needs to see this," Anders continued. "Then… then we can all stop pretending that the Circle is a solution." He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, then let out a breath, and looked up at Hawke. "And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay." He smiled slightly. "Perhaps then, at least, Justice would be free." Then he lowered his eyes, unable to look at Hawke any longer.

Hawke dropped to his knees in front of him, took his hands. "Anders."

Anders looked away, but Hawke reached up and cupped his cheek. "Whatever you're going to do, just do it," he pleaded. "If you're going to kill me or…"

Hawke gently pulled him back, and Anders saw tears in those green eyes. He waited for the decision, his own hands shaking slightly. Hawke leaned up, and Anders winced, expecting the knife in his ribs or the shock of electricity to his heart. Instead, Hawke wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. Anders felt the scratch of his lover's beard against his own scruffy cheek, felt his hot breath against his ear. He still dared not hope.

"Garrett," he whispered.

"I need you," Hawke said softly. "Help me defend our brethren, Anders. Stay with me."

Anders let out a shaking sob, a breath of relief and disbelief. Hawke pulled back and cupped his jaw with both hands, looking at him intensely, waiting for his answer. Anders couldn't believe it. Hawke wanted him to stay by his side. Wanted him to fight the Templars, to fight the injustice of the Circle. He'd been ready to give up his life. He never wanted to entertain false hope for anything else. Finally he nodded through tears, and returned Hawke's impassioned kiss, clutching the front of his robes.

"No!"

Hawke broke away suddenly and stood up. Anders looked over. Sebastian was there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury.

"You condone this?" Sebastian spat, stalking over.

Anders stood, but Hawke moved quickly between the two of them. "Stand down, Sebastian."

"The brutal death of an innocent woman of faith," Sebastian said. "Someone you knew! Someone who trusted you!"

"I don't condone it, but I accept the necessity," Hawke replied. "I also don't condone the slaughter of hundreds of innocent mages, which is what Meredith would see happen tonight."

"He dies, Hawke," Sebastian said, pointing at Anders. "Or I swear I will return to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!" he snarled, stepping up, chest to chest with Hawke. He lowered his voice, adding, "And I will find your precious Anders and I will make sure he knows the true meaning of justice."

Electricity crackled at Hawke's fingertips, causing Sebastian to back up. "You will not touch him. Or I will kill you."

Sebastian raised a fist, as if he wanted to punch Hawke, then stopped. "I will not fight you, Hawke. My death now would serve nothing."

"Go," Hawke growled.

Sebastian stepped back, turning to look at the others. He gestured to Fenris. "Come with me."

Fenris's eyes widened a bit. He looked at Sebastian a moment, then to Hawke. Anders stepped forward, waiting.

"Make your choice, Fenris," Hawke said gently. "It's your decision."

"I…" Fenris started. He cast around, as if one of the others would make the choice for him. Merrill was the only one who smiled at him, and he lowered his head briefly. When he looked up again, he held his chin high. "My place is at your side, Hawke. Sebastian-"

Sebastian threw up a hand to silence him, and went, shoulder slamming into Hawke's as he ran up the steps to Hightown. Fenris let out a sigh, and Merrill went to him, gently touching his shoulder. Fenris did not shrug her off. Anders wanted to thank him. He knew what it must have taken Fenris to agree to stay, but he stayed quiet. The elf was here for Hawke. Not for him, not for the mages. But for now, it was enough.

Aveline stepped forward. "Hawke. I sent Donnic and the others to help the citizens, but if you need me…"

Hawke shook his head. "Do your duty, Aveline, then meet me in the Gallows if you can. Your place is protecting the people of Kirkwall."

"Does that mean the Guard stands with the mages?" Anders asked, hopefully.

Aveline scowled. "I don't agree with the slaughter of innocent mages and the Maker knows I have no love for Meredith. She might have had the legal right to call for the Right of Annulment but it doesn't mean she's morally right. It's…" She looked at Hawke. "It's not what Wesley would have agreed with. But Hawke, when this is over, I expect Anders to turn himself in for his crime."

"Thank you, Aveline," Hawke said, and Anders noticed Hawke did not agree with Aveline's demand. "I hope to see you in the Gallows."

She left, following the path Sebastian took. Anders looked at the others, wondering if they would have stood by him, or if they were here for Hawke. Varric looked tired and Isabela seemed bored, but he could tell in her eyes she was terrified.

"Thank you," Hawke said to them. "You have no idea what this means to me, to us." He reached down, taking Anders' hand, squeezing tightly. "We need to get to the Gallows to help Orsino before Meredith comes. If we make it through this…"

"We're with you Hawke," Merrill said eagerly. "You've helped us all more than you know."

Isabela smiled. "It's true. And it's not just about a boat. Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

Hawke released Anders' hand and Anders followed them through Lowtown toward the docks. The Guard was trying their best to control order, stopping to detain them briefly before recognizing Hawke, and letting them go. The six of them easily cut through a Templar blockade, though three Circle mages hadn't made it, dead at their feet. They passed the remains of shades, dark stains upon the tan stone, and the mangled body of an abomination.

"Those poor souls," Anders whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the face of the demon-mage hybrid. "That was someone's child…"

Hawke took his arm. "We have to focus on the living now, Anders."

Anders swallowed and nodded and hurried with them. How many mages would fall to their own hands? How many would allow Templars to kill them? How many would turn to demons for help? He could only imagine their fear, their panic, the sheer desperation. He sat alone on the ferry over, the boat being steered by Isabela, Hawke and Varric rowing. The ferryman had left already, the Guard working to get the citizens to safety as the battle raged on. He thought about the chantry, those in Hightown, and felt only a brief smattering of sympathy. Kirkwall's nobility had treated Hawke like a servant, like a slave. They thought it was quaint having their own pet apostate. They spared no thoughts for the mages; they let Meredith become a tyrant. They cared nothing for anyone but themselves. The little flame of sympathy flickered out.

Merrill touched his shoulder and he looked up. She smiled at him softly. "You were braver than I would have been."

"Merrill, I…"

"I'm with you, Anders. I understand."

He nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. It seemed she'd forgiven him for the harsh things he'd said to her. Whatever he'd done to deserve that, he was grateful to have her behind him. The boat hit the pier and Isabela tied it off. Hawke led the group up the stairs and through the gate of the courtyard. Anders saw bodies of both mages and Templars littering the ground. Magefire burned brightly, several pockets scattered around the yard. At the top of the steps he saw Orsino backing up with three Templars advancing. He swung his hydra head staff, three bright bolts of red light shooting from the tips, catching the Templars in the chest. They flew back through the air and landed with a crash, convulsing with the magic before lying dead.

"First Enchanter!" Hawke called through the darkness.

Orsino's head snapped up. "Champion! Thank the Maker." He turned to the other mages that were with him. "Go! Into the tower, lock the gates!" he ordered, before hurrying down the steps toward Hawke. Two senior enchanters followed him, but Orsino stopped, seeing Anders, and narrowed his eyes. "You-"

"And here you are," said a sharp voice.

They turned, Anders stepping back, bumping into Hawke who touched his wrist. Meredith approached, a troop of Templars behind her including Carver and Cullen.

"Let us speak, Meredith," Orsino said, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. "Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect."

"I will entertain a surrender," Meredith said, walking past Hawke and the others, cold eyes narrowed at Orsino. "Nothing more." She stopped in front of him. "Speak, if you have something to say."

"Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far. Imprison us, if you must."

Anders stepped forward and Hawke held him back. "Wait," Hawke whispered.

Anger boiled dangerously close to his surface. Orsino would let Meredith take them, to treat them as prisoners, as slaves. He would bow and bend and scrape and allow the injustices to continue. He refused to sacrifice, to give up anything for his freedom. And he, Anders, would have gladly laid down his life. He would _not_ allow Orsino to undo what he'd done, he wouldn't!

"Search the tower," Orsino implored her. "I will even help you."

"Coward," Anders spat, unable to contain his rage.

Orsino looked at Anders, glaring, before turning back to Meredith. "Do not kill us all for an act we did not commit. The man you want is there." He pointed.

Hawke pulled Anders back roughly, behind him, staff raised in defense, and Anders knew that if it came to it, Hawke would die for him. The thought did not make him feel better, and in that instant he felt nothing but hatred and contempt for the weak elf standing before them, begging Meredith for a peaceful compromise.

Meredith shook her head. "The Grand Cleric is dead, killed by a mage. The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them. Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late."

"There can be no peace," Hawke said, repeating Anders' words of earlier, "until the mages are free and the injustices of the Circle are dead and buried. We're not Templar slaves anymore, Meredith."

Hawke wasn't one to make speeches, but Anders felt the sorrow in his lover's few words. He knew Hawke was thinking about his own family, his sister and his father. He was thinking of Feynriel, of Evelina and Huon and Emile. And just past Meredith, Anders saw Carver looking at Hawke, frowning a bit before he lowered his head. He wondered what Carver was thinking, and hoped desperately that Hawke wouldn't be forced to kill his brother.

"I suppose I should have expected nothing less from you, Champion," Meredith said. "So be it. You and your friends will share the Circle's fate. You should have run when you had the chance."

"I am no coward," Hawke declared, and Anders saw Orsino wince.

There was a moment of silence as Hawke and Meredith glared at one another.

"So what is it to be, Meredith?" Orsino finally asked with a sigh. "Do we fight here?"

"Go," she said. "Prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor."

They turned to leave, and Carver spoke up. "Garrett!"

Hawke stopped, turning back, Anders with him while the others continued up the stairs. Hawke didn't speak, merely looked.

"Are you really going to fight your own brother?" Carver asked, sounding a bit desperate.

"I could ask you the same question, Carver." Hawke's expression was pained. "I've made my decision. Your choice is your own. You decide what family means to you."

Carver's resolve faltered, and Anders thought he looked less like a Templar, less like that cocky warrior he'd met years ago, and more like a scared little boy who'd lost his sister, father and mother. Would he risk losing his brother as well?

"This isn't what I want," Carver said finally. "I…"

"Ser Carver," Meredith said, using his title to remind him what he was. "I suggest you remember our purpose."

"I…" Carver said again, then looked at her and bowed his head. "Yes, Knight-Commander," he said quietly.

Anders looked from him to Cullen, whose lips were pursed so tightly they'd gone white, but otherwise stood impassively. Hawke took Anders by the arm and pulled him away, following the others up the stairs and into the main hall. Varric and Isabela stood together, looking through the gates, talking quietly. Merrill was sitting with Alain, who was looking horribly shaken, gently rubbing his back. And Fenris was apart from the others, one hand against the base of a statue, staring pensively at the golden slave above him, hands raised to the Maker in prayer. Anders noticed Orsino and group of other mages, recognizing Solivitus the merchant handing out the last of his wares. Hawke squeezed Anders' hand.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, and went to Isabela and Varric.

Orsino was giving instructions to a few senior enchanters. They nodded and left down a side passage. Anders took a deep breath, hands on his hips, looking at the ground. He never thought he'd be here. He never even entertained the idea that they would make it this far. He thought he'd be dead by now, a lifeless corpse at the feet of the man he loved. He would have given up his life gladly, and he still would. After all, there was a very good chance they wouldn't survive this.

_"There is no better death than to take the blow for another."_

Elthina's words. He shuddered. Though he abhorred the woman, what she stood for, the words rang true. Then, he thought he remembered something else. Another piece of wisdom given to him a long time ago.

_"It is imperative more than ever that you stay close to the one who will become the most important to you, lest you forget what is most important above all."_

Flemeth. He'd not thought about that day in years. What was the most important thing above all? The plight of the mages. Freedom. Freedom to do what you wanted, to live out from underneath the shadows of others. To not be a prisoner, a slave, just for being born differently. He looked at Hawke, who'd crossed to speak with Merrill and Alain, and was moving now to converse with Fenris.

No. Not just freedom to live. The freedom to love.

It would no longer be a world where mages would have to take care not to love someone too much, too deeply. No more being terrified that they would be seized from their mother's arms, crying and terrified. And no more pretending that love was merely a game to be played. Now it was something… real. Hawke stopped in front of him finally. Anders blinked, and Hawked reached up, wiping a tear from his face before cupping his cheek, gently brushing his thumb against it.

"I should have trusted you," Anders said quietly. "Even with all we've shared, I never thought you'd spare my life. I couldn't… hope for that." Hawke started to speak but Anders cut him off, needing to get the next part off his chest, needing to know for sure. "If we live through this, you know I'll be hunted. By the Chantry. By Templars. Sebastian has declared me a mortal enemy. There will be no safe place where I can go. No one in Kirkwall, no one in the Free Marches… possibly no one in the whole of Thedas even will offer me mercy." He took Hawke's hand, turning his head to kiss his palm. "But… if you would join me, I'd rather be on the run with you than safe with anyone else." He looked up to meet Hawke's eyes.

"Then we'll be fugitives together," Hawke said immediately.

Anders smiled. "We can build a world where no one ever dies for being how the Maker created them. Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no Templars to tear them apart." Only now did he allow that bit of emotion that he'd been so carefully keeping at bay to take root, to fill him with hope and joy.

"No one will have to suffer like how Bethany suffered," Hawke whispered. "People like my father won't have their hands forced."

"May the Maker bring us victory," Anders said, letting Hawke pull him into a hug.

"The mages will have their freedom," Hawke said, gripping him. "It will start here."

Anders closed his eyes, sharing a soft, chaste kiss with him before they separated. Hawke leaned his forehead against Anders', hand at the back of his neck.

"I love you," Hawke whispered.

"And I love you. Always."

Hawke kissed his forehead and then headed back to Orsino to speak with him. Anders took his staff from his back and moved toward Varric and Isabela, looking at them carefully. Varric gently patted him on the arm. Isabela embraced him tightly. Merrill smiled at him. And at last he turned to Fenris.

"Mage," Fenris said simply.

"Elf," Anders replied.

They stared at each other a moment longer. Fenris inclined his head ever so slightly, and Anders nodded. Hawke returned to them, the mages behind him fanning out, getting into position.

"It's going to start soon. Varric, I need you to give us aerial cover," he said, gesturing to the balcony. "Up the stairs, to the right. You'll have two enchanters with you."

"Bianca's ready, Hawke," he said, shaking Hawke's hand and heading off.

"Isabela, stealth and speed. Anders, make sure you supplement that speed when you can. Merrill, whatever you can do to slow the Templars down to help Isabela keep the upper hand, and if those sons of bitches get too close to the apprentices, you unleash hell."

Isabela withdrew her knives, spinning them in her hands, moving back to a corner, toward the shadows. Merrill nodded, hands clasped, bouncing on the balls of her feet a bit before she hurried over to join Alain.

"Fenris, I need you at the front lines," Hawke said, a bit hesitantly.

"I know my place, Hawke," Fenris assured him. "I will not let you down."

"Anders."

"I'll do my best to keep you all alive," Anders said easily.

"No," Hawke said. "I need you to focus on Fenris."

Anders exchanged a look with Fenris, then back to Hawke. "I-"

"He's the only sword we have until Aveline can make it back. And she might be caught behind the lines. We can't count on her or the Guard making it here in time. If that's the case, Fenris is our front line. He'll need you, understand?"

Anders licked his lips and nodded. "I understand."

Hawke shook Fenris's hand, then raised his palm, casting a haste spell on him. "That should hold for a while, I hope."

"Na via lerno Victoria," Fenris said with a slight bow. "'Only the living know victory.' Fight well, Hawke."

Hawke nodded, and he and Anders stood back as Fenris turned, sword in hand, lyrium markings coming to life.

From above them in the balcony, one of the enchanters shouted, "Here they come!"

"And so it begins and ends," Hawke said, readying his staff.

He reached out and gripped Anders' hand, squeezing it briefly before dropping it as the gate broke, the first wave of Templars spilling into the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

"Seal the gate! Hurry!" Orsino screamed as his enchanters worked to lower the portcullis.

Hawke, the last of them through the archway, spun wildly and used the last of his mana to hurl a blast of flame at the three Templars that tried to duck the slowly descending iron portcullis. Anders lifted his staff and shot a spirit bolt at the bracing chain, causing the gate to crash to the ground, impaling a Templar that tried to follow. Fenris and Varric, exhausted and covered in blood, hurried to push the wooden doors shut and slammed the drawbar down before dragging every bit of furniture they could find to barricade it. Only a handful of mages were left, most too tired even to stand, and they collapsed at the far end of the courtyard.

Anders went first to Fenris, whose left arm was gashed and hanging uselessly at his side. Hawke decreed that any lyrium potions were to be given to Anders or Solivitus, who'd turned out to be a halfway decent healer as well. His last moments were not wasted, saving Alain's life seconds before a Templar blade impaled him through the chest. Alain managed to use the merchant's blood to call upon an army of shades to buy them enough time to retreat to safety before his demon claimed him as a prize. Anders watched the abomination he'd become rise up and viciously strike out at their attackers before Hawke yanked him away.

Fenris's lyrium markings burned brightly as Anders healed the gash and used his own sleeve to wipe up the blood. He turned then to Hawke.

"I'm fine," Hawke insisted. "Save your strength."

Anders didn't listen, grabbing his arm, fiercely ripping away his sleeve and yanking out the arrow from his shoulder. Hawke shouted in pain, and Anders pressed a hand over the wound. "Bloody idiot," he muttered. "Next time, don't be a hero."

Hawke winced, shaking out his arm. "You're prettier than I am," he said. "I didn't want it to mar your lovely skin."

Anders glared at him, in no mood for jokes. Hawke held up his hands apologetically and went to Merrill, who was upset and shaking. Alain's death had come as a shock to all of them, but she was taking it particularly hard. Anders swore he and Solivitus would be remembered. He knelt down to look through his pack and Hawke's, finding three elfroot potions and two lyrium ones. There were several injury kits and two stamina vials. He took the last, yellow liquid sloshing, and returned to Fenris, pressing them to his hand. Fenris looked up.

"You're probably going to need more than these, but it's all we have. Try not to waste them."

Fenris nodded his thanks, slipping both carefully into his gauntlet. Anders checked on Isabela and Varric, who were both fine, just shaken. They were splashing water on their faces from the fountain, trying to recover from the onslaught. Meredith had brought the whole of the Order with her. Orsino commanded most of the apprentices to flee, to try to find a way out of Kirkwall to alert the other Circles to what was going on.

"She did _what_?" Hawke yelled suddenly, voice reverberating off the courtyard walls.

Anders looked up. Hawke was screaming at Orsino, who was looking absolutely defeated. He picked up the rest of their supplies and headed over.

"It's what I was writing to tell you," Orsino was explaining in earnest.

"What?" Anders asked.

Hawke turned, glaring, but not at Anders. His rage was palpable. "Meredith sent to the Divine for the Right of Annulment last week."

Anders' eyes widened. "But… that would mean…"

"She was planning this all along," Orsino said. "The Grand Cleric must have denied her request and she was going over her head before any of this even happened."

Hawke ran a hand through his hair, taking a few frantic steps away from Orsino before stepping back, raising a hand as if to hit him, then stepped away again. He strode all the way across the courtyard, as if trying to stem his anger with the First Enchanter by removing himself from the elf's presence.

Anders looked at Orsino accusingly. "You didn't think to say anything until now."

"I only just found out today," Orsino snapped. "Why do you think I was going to Elthina in the first place? I was going to tell her what Meredith did, and then _you_ ," he said, jabbing a finger in Anders' chest, causing him to stumble back, "went and killed her!"

Hawke was stalking back quickly now, and Anders allowed himself to be tugged out of the way as Hawke grabbed Orsino by the robes, nearly lifting him off the ground. "Don't you dare blame him," he snarled. "You should have done something sooner, before any of this even started."

"And what did you do, Champion?" Orsino asked. "You were never part of the Circle. You never knew what we suffered."

"He knew," Anders said. "He knew because he helped me get _your_ people to safety. And Thrask. And Alain. And Selby. And now they're dead and you're still alive. You weak, pathetic excuse for a leader."

Hawke dropped Orsino and the elf stumbled back a bit. He cast around, looking at his senior enchanters for backup, but they were all slumped on the floor, exhausted and not looking to start a fight with the Champion.

"Fighting amongst ourselves won't help things," Hawke said finally. He looked at Orsino. "Prepare them for death. We go down fighting." He walked away, Anders following, and waved the others over. "Thank you. All of you for standing by me. I'm afraid that might have been the last decision you'll ever make though. For every one of them we've cut down, they've taken three of us and I think Meredith still has most of her force. We can only hope Aveline is able flank them and… and pray to the Maker we survive this."

"I was really hoping for a happy ending," Varric said flatly. "For what it's worth, Hawke, it's been nice knowing you."

"I never even got to sail my ship," Isabela pouted. "But it's better this way, I guess. Rivaini women don't age well. Can you imagine me in thirty years?"

Merrill tilted her head. "I bet you'd still be beautiful!"

Isabela laughed. "Thanks, kitten."

"I'd rather die a free man," Fenris said, "making my own choices. You gave me that chance, Hawke."

"Whatever happens next," Hawke said, "we face it together. I never stayed in one place long enough to really make friends. I'm glad I met all of you."

"Aw, stop it," Isabela said, teasing. "You're going to make me cry."

"Champion!" one of the senior enchanters said, coming up. "I think the First Enchanter's losing it."

They turned to look.

Orsino was pacing. "Look at it all," he muttered, almost to himself.

Anders frowned as they approached him. There was something in his tone, something that sounded off.

"Why don't they drown us as infants?" Orsino whispered, rubbing his face with both hands, sighing. "Why wait? Why give us the illusion of hope?"

"First Enchanter?" Hawke asked gently, moving to touch his shoulder.

Orsino turned, looking at them as if seeing them for the first time. "I refuse to keep running. I won't wait for her to kill me."

There was a loud bang against the gate. The Templars forced the portcullis and were now using a battering ram against the doors.

"I'm tired of this," Orsino continued, and he sounded it. "Quentin's research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside."

Anders felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Quentin was a name he hadn't heard in three years, the blood mage who'd been involved in Leandra's death. He looked at Hawke, who was staring, open mouthed. He inhaled sharply, fists clenching.

"You-"

"I see now there is no other way," Orsino said, cutting him off, ignoring Hawke's shocked anger.

The doors behind them gave an almighty crack, the chairs and benches they'd piled against it lurching forward. Anders looked back to see the drawbar splinter in two.

"They're breaking in!" he cried, grabbing Hawke's arm, pulling him away quickly.

"Meredith wants blood magic?" Orsino asked, pulling a knife from his robes.

Anders watched the others scramble away from Orsino. The gate burst open, several dozen Templars spilling into the room.

Orsino pulled up his sleeve. "I will give her blood magic. Maker help us all." He drew the blade swiftly across his wrist.

Whatever Anders had seen in the past – blood mages, darkspawn, broodmothers – it didn't prepare him at all for this. Corpses of fallen Templars and mages alike were drawn in from the hall. The body that was stuck in the portcullis shook and broke free. A dozen bodies in all lifted through the air as Orsino's blood mixed with theirs, circling around him in a whirl of foul magic. Anders felt a disconnect from the Fade, then an abrupt reconnect. One of the Templars had tried to cleanse the area. Orsino's blood ritual was too strong.

"What in Andraste's flaming pyre…" Hawke began, eyes wide as he watched.

Anders, who was still clutching Hawke's arm, did not let go. "I've never seen…"

The bodies melded together and Orsino was consumed under them as he fell forward. Fabric was torn, flesh melting, bubbling, boiling. The blood circling the air was absorbed into the mutated, mangled mess. Slowly the creature stood ten, perhaps fifteen feet tall. Its skin was sagging, stinking, rotting, its form just barely humanoid with a large protruding belly and a head that seemed to be a creature all on its own with two thin, gangly arms that ended in sharp claws. And when it finally seemed to finish, the monstrosity that had once been First Enchanter Orsino reared back and roared loud enough to shake the dust from the walls, revealing its gaping maw with razor sharp teeth, spittle flying across the stones.

Several Templars turned and ran back down the hall. Anders could see the senior enchanters quivering in a corner. With shaking hands, he pulled the lyrium potions from the pouch, handing one to Hawke, taking the other for himself. Hawke said nothing, just downed it, and Anders did the same. The Orsino creature noticed the Templars first and charged toward them. Hawke remained quiet as they watched it tear through the line like a hot knife through soft butter, suffering only the most cursory of blows as the Templars tried to defend themselves. And then it charged out of the courtyard, screaming the entire way.

"Please tell me you saw that," Varric said. His tone could only be described as utter, incomprehensible disbelief.

"Please tell me we're not going to fight that!" Isabela added, pointing one of her knives in the direction where it had fled. She looked to Hawke. "Hawke. Say something."

"We go after it."

"Are you sure that's a wise decision?" Fenris asked, looking apprehensive. "Perhaps…"

"We'll let it thin the ranks of the Templars if it can," Hawke said. "But we need to stop it before it gets to the mainland."

Anders wanted to argue, but found he couldn't. "There are innocent people in Lowtown. Good people who would be killed."

Hawke turned to the mages that were left. "Get away if you can. Get to… Go to Ferelden. Go to Denerim, seek out King Alistair. Tell him the Champion sent you. Tell him what happened here. It's your best chance of survival." He turned back to the others. "The rest of you, with me."

He ran, and they followed. Anders had forgotten his earlier exhaustion. The lyrium potion rejuvenated his mana but his muscles ached. He was dizzy and in need of rest. Adrenaline had propelled him through the first bout of fighting. Midnight was long past and though the sky was still dark, dawn couldn't be too far off. He had no idea how many hours they fought, trying to stay ahead of the Templars as their numbers were decimated again and again. And now they were alone, just the six of them.

Hawke came to a skidding halt in the place called Templar Hall, just outside Meredith's office. The sound of screaming and clanging of swords came from around the corner. They approached slowly and looked. The Orsino abomination was staggering, stumbling as Templars flanked it, taking turns racing in, slicing it with their blades before ducking out and keeping it busy while another moved to strike. Anders would have been content to watch, letting the Templars fall one at a time to it, letting them weaken and exhaust it before they tried to stop it. But Hawke was taking aim with his staff.

Isabela disappeared in a puff of smoke, and Merrill hurried out of the hallway to get a clear shot. Fenris leapt down off the balcony to join the Templars, and Varric unloaded several bolts, aiming for what passed as the thing's eyes. Anders conserved his mana, deigning to let the others fight and saving his energy for healing. It was difficult to maintain a clear line of sight on Fenris, and when the elf fell from a particularly vicious swipe of the creature, Anders had to rush down the stairs toward him.

"Saving your bloody life…" Anders muttered. "Better appreciate…"

He dragged an unconscious Fenris away from the melee, glad that the thing was keeping Templars busy and vice versa. The light from Fenris's tattoos had faded, but he was still alive. Anders unbuckled his breastplate and put his palm square on the elf's chest. Using the same jolt of electricity he'd used with Nyssa, then another, Fenris lurched to consciousness, gasping.

"Fasta vass!" he hissed, eyes opening wide, then narrowing to a glare. "Mage!" he managed, trying to lift a hand to his aching chest.

"Mage who's saved your life more than once so shut up and drink this," Anders said, shoving a potion to his lips.

Fenris opened his mouth and allowed Anders to pour the potent elfroot potion down his throat. He lay as still as he could, chest heaving, gritting his teeth as Anders worked quickly. It was done in minutes, not perfect but the best Anders could manage under the circumstances. He buckled the breastplate back over Fenris's chest, tightening the straps and stood, pulling him to his feet. Fenris gripped his arm in thanks before picking up his sword and returning to the fight.

"War makes strange bedfellows," he mused, before looking up. "HAWKE!"

Hawke had taken a running leap onto the creature's face.

_Maker, what the hell is he doing? He's going to get himself killed! Bloody idiot. Should let the Templars take the blow, oh for the love of all that is good and right, please, please let him not die._

Hawke grabbed onto the two protrusions from the abomination's head. Distracted as it was with Hawke, it no longer fought back against the Templars at its feet, its larger set of arms flailing, trying to dislodge him. Hawke was using the same technique he'd used on the Arishok, hands burning against the rotted flesh. The creature screamed and fell to its knees, lurching forward. Anders watched as Hawke ripped its head from its body and fell back, crashing fifteen feet to the ground.

"HAWKE!" he screamed again, and ran toward him, staff out. He didn't think, just cast. Three balls of healing light shot through the air, aided by his own frantic panicking, and they washed over Hawke.

Hawke sat up almost at once, shaking himself roughly and grabbed up his staff. The Templars that surrounded the creature were cautious, and two stabbed it roughly though it wasn't moving anymore. The head, however, lay feet away. Stunned momentarily it was now starting to move, dragging itself across the stone using its protrusions, leaving behind a wet streak of blood and sinew. Hawke got shakily to his feet and walked toward it, Templars parting for him as he approached. With a feral cry, he stomped down hard on the thing's face twice, then a third time.

Anders reached him, grabbing his arm. Hawke turned, wide-eyed, covered in blood, breathing heavily. "Hawke."

"I really, really don't want to be Champion anymore," Hawke said.

Anders stared at him, a little shaken by the nervous laughter that escaped Hawke's lips, bubbling over out of exhaustion, fear and anger.

"It's almost over," Anders said, looking around.

The Templars were staring from behind their helmets, but none moved to intercept Hawke and the others.

"Where's Meredith?" Hawke demanded.

One of the Templars pointed to the Gallows courtyard, toward where the fighting had begun. Hawke nodded to the others and took Anders' hand, pulling him out. Anders tugged him back just before they turned the last corner.

"Do you want to still go through with this?" he asked. "I can go. You can take the others and escape. I'll let Meredith arrest me and take the fall for the – unf!"

Hawke shoved him back against the wall, forearm pressed over his chest. "I will never, ever leave you. We're in this together." He seemed to realize what he'd done and released him almost at once. "I'm sorry. I…"

Anders rubbed his chest, then reached up to touch Hawke's shoulder. "We're all exhausted. Who knows how many more Templars…"

"Then we fight," Hawke said, "and if we die, we die together."

Anders nodded, and Hawke drew him close for a kiss. Varric cleared his throat, and Anders jumped, almost having forgotten the others were there. He licked his lips tasting sweat and blood, and they all walked to the courtyard for the last, final confrontation.

He counted a dozen or so guardsmen, including Aveline and Donnic sitting against the base of a statue, arms clamped in irons behind them, relieved of their swords and shields. Hawke caught Aveline's eye and nodded to her. She looked livid, but her anger was for Meredith, who was standing in the middle of the courtyard with her arms crossed. Behind her stood at least twenty Templars including Cullen and Carver. Hawke drew level with her, waiting.

"And here we are Champion, at long last."

The only sound for a minute was the waves lapping in the harbor.

"You're going to pay for what you've done, Meredith," Hawke said. "Orsino said you called for the Right of Annulment long before tonight. That you went above the Grand Cleric's head to try to get it sanctioned. You were going to kill every mage in the Circle even before the events of tonight."

Cullen frowned, looking at her, and Carver's jaw dropped. Behind them, the Templars whispered softly. Anders felt a swelling of righteousness. If they were to die tonight, or even merely be arrested though he doubted that would be the case, the other Templars would know what Meredith had done.

"I will be rewarded for what I've done here," Meredith said, uncrossing her arms. "In this world and the next. I have done nothing but perform my duty. What happens to you now is your own doing."

Hawke's grip on his staff tightened. "Oh?" he challenged.

"You were never a part of this Circle," Meredith continued. "I tolerated that, but in defending them you have chosen to share their fate."

"And I would do it again if given the choice," Hawke declared.

"How noble," she sneered, then addressed Cullen. "Knight-Captain, you may relieve him of his life."

Cullen stepped forward, and it was Anders this time who pulled Hawke back, stepping in front of him.

"Anders," Hawke said.

"If we die, we die together, remember?" Anders shot back, glaring at Cullen, who'd turned to Meredith.

"Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the Champion," Cullen said. "The traitor guards, the Champion and his allies. They're not fighting us."

Meredith turned a calculating eye on him. "You will do as I command, Cullen," she said, addressing him without rank or title.

"No!" Cullen shouted. "I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. When there was subversion in the ranks, I stamped on it. But this is too far." His face was lined and tired, but his eyes were sharp and his stance indicated he was ready for a fight, hand at his side on his sword pommel.

"I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!" she demanded, and Anders recognized the same fevered pitch her voice had reached as she shouted at Orsino hours before.

She pulled her own sword, a wicked looking two-handed blade. Anders immediately stepped back from it, and would have banged into Hawke had he not shied away as well. The lyrical humming he'd heard long, long ago in the Deep Roads sprang to life in his brain now. But it was no longer a pleasant thrum. It reminded him more of the darkspawn, like a twisted beat that itched at his brain and demanded he listen. The sword alighted, glowing bright red, and instantly Anders knew what it was.

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks," Varric breathed. 

"You recognize it, do you not?" Meredith asked, turning to address Hawke. Her Templars were slowly backing away now. "Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize." She stroked the back of her gauntleted hand against the underside of the blade, eyes flashing madly.

"That idol poisoned Bartrand's mind," Varric said.

"He was weak," Meredith said simply. "I am not."

Anders saw Varric draw Bianca. "Insult my brother again, bitch," he dared her.

Meredith smirked before addressing her Templars, who'd given her a wide berth. "All of you! I want him dead!" she said, pointing the sword tip at Hawke.

It was Carver who spoke, drawing his sword. "No! I won't kill my brother for you! And I won't let anyone else do it, either."

Meredith slowly turned her head to look at Carver. "You dare?" she whispered.

"Enough!" Cullen snapped, stepping forward again. "This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down! I relieve you of your command!"

The Templars behind Meredith all seemed to be nodding in agreement. But Meredith's eyes widened and she turned to Cullen, looking hurt and betrayed.

"My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow, and slowly drew his sword, pulling his shield from his back. Meredith swung her sword in an arc and Carver leapt back just in time. Anders could see Isabela moving out of the corner of his eye, heading toward Aveline and the other guards. He dared not look for fear of drawing attention to her.

"You all have!" Meredith claimed. "You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!"

"The lyrium has made her paranoid beyond rational thought," Fenris said, wincing as his markings flickered to life in response to the sword's power. "She can no longer see reason."

"I don't need any of you!" she screamed, lurching forward with her sword, forcing her Templars back further. "I will protect this city myself!" She pointed the sword at Hawke's chest.

Anders reached back, gripping Hawke's hand, making sure he was still there, trying to hold onto something real as the lyrium thrummed and sang. 

Carver took three long strides and came to a stop in front of both of them. "You'll have to go through me," he declared, raising his sword defensively.

"And me," Cullen added, standing next to him, shield up.

"TRAITORS!" Meredith shrieked. "I'll have both your heads!"

She swung the sword, reversed her grip, and then plunged the tip to the ground. The light intensified and glowed brighter than a flame. Anders raised a hand to shield his eyes as it glimmered, casting a halo of magical energy five feet in diameter around it. Meredith knelt on the ground, both hands gripping the pommel.

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked," she murmured slowly, praying from the Chant of Light. She stood, sword in hand properly now, and finished, "and do not falter."

Cullen met her first blow with his shield while Carver ducked low and attacked at her legs. Anders only had a split second to marvel at both their speed and the way they moved together in practiced grace before he was being pulled back by Hawke. He saw Aveline and her guards, free from their chains move to collect weapons and shields from the fallen Templars in order to defend themselves. Meredith continued to attack Carver and her knight-captain who were doing their best to block her blows.

Hawke raised his staff and infused both with extra speed. Fenris ran forward now, a blur of white as Hawke's spell took hold on him as well. The other Templars moved back, out of the fight, and large red-white flames sprung up around the courtyard, blocking their exits. Aveline and her guard watched and waited for an entrance, but Meredith was still too small a target for more than the three assailants who were already on her. She swung wide and Carver misjudged a step, the sword catching him on his shoulder, clanging off his pauldron.

"Parry right, lunge straight!" Hawke yelled.

Anders thought he saw a flash of a grin on Carver's face as he followed instructions. He knocked her sword upward and Hawke, Anders and Merrill were quick with their spells. The three swordsmen backed away quickly and Meredith was struck with electricity, fire and stone from three different angles. Varric took aim with his crossbow, catching her in the joint between her cuirass and pauldron. With a cry she reached up and snapped the arrow in half. Hawke shot another blast of fire and while it only scorched her armor, she was knocked backward. Isabela appeared lightning-quick behind her, daggers largely ineffective against the dragonbone plate, but the spin kick to Isabela sent to her head sent Meredith reeling off balance and she fell.

Hawke approached slowly. "Give it up, Meredith! You're outnumbered!"

"Maker," Meredith gasped, eyes on the ground as she climbed to one knee. "Your humble servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil." She looked up, eyes glowing as red as the lyrium in her sword.

"What _is_ that?" Anders heard someone say.

He'd seen Templars in the throes of lyrium addiction and withdrawal; he'd seen mages go insane from overexposure to the raw, unrefined ore. He knew the power of red lyrium, but for the second time that night, he saw something he never even knew existed. First Orsino's blood magic, now Meredith's lyrium-induced insanity. She grinned widely and leapt high into the air, flipping back and coming to land hard on the dais in the middle of the stairs, stone cracking beneath her feet. Cullen, Carver and Fenris started to follow, but the same red-white flames shot up at the foot of the stairs as she slammed her sword-point to the ground. A ripple of energy shot violently through the courtyard.

And suddenly, the golden statues started to creak.

"Maker preserve us," Cullen breathed, turning back-to-back with Carver as the statues of not only the slaves but their guardians as well came to life, infused with the power of the red lyrium.

All around the courtyard now statues gained sentience, some toppling over before crawling to their feet, others climbing down from their bases gracefully. Three guardian statues, thirty feet tall, used their slaves as stepping stones off their pedestals. Dozens more of the smaller chained slaves, though a third of that height, were no less terrifying as they followed their masters, lurching forward and starting to attack anything in their way.

Aveline shouted orders to her guardsmen and they flanked the largest guardian while Cullen commanded the Templars toward another. Both groups moved fluently and flawlessly, though Anders was sure nothing in their training prepared them for anything like this. Hawke's companions were neither Templar nor guard, but they had more than enough time fighting together, and they focused on a third guardian, working to bring it down. Merrill used the spell Anders remembered first seeing her perform, tendrils of magic jutting from the ground, swallowing four slave statues, yanking them down to the depths of the earth before the stone closed up over them again.

Anders stood back, trying to keep his eye on all three groups, the core of his very being repulsed by the idea of using his mana reserves to aid Templars, but the more that fell, the more difficult fight it would be for Hawke and the others. He spun easily, lobbing a blue healing light toward one Templar, then to Aveline, who fell when the guardian statue swept its mace, catching her hard in the ribs. He heard Hawke cry out, and turned, but he'd just managed to leap out of the way as their guardian toppled and crashed to the ground. The unnatural red light around it faded and dulled and it stopped moving, no longer a threat.

Isabela leapt to the defense of the guards, Varric and Merrill following suit as Fenris rushed in to aid the Templars. Hawke joined Fenris and his brother. With the added magical attacks on either side, both statues were dispatched quickly, falling and fading like the first. Two Templars began pulling their wounded aside, and Anders hesitated.

"Go," Hawke ordered, then looked to Aveline, pointing to the corner. "Get your wounded to safety! This isn't over yet!" He spun to shoot a streak of lightning at a slave statue that lumbered toward them.

Anders hated to leave Hawke alone, but he counted at least half a dozen Templars and several guards that needed his help. Though not as seemingly deadly as the guardian statues, there were plenty smaller slave statues that still needed to be dispatched. Anders raced to the corner, surveying the wounded. One man was already dead, three more with life-threatening injuries. He turned first to the guards with broken and wrenched limbs and started healing them. It was a familiar pattern, something he knew, something he remembered through muscle memory alone. When his spirit healing abilities were first discovered, he was trained immediately to work quickly and efficiently even in the middle of battle. It always disgusted him that it was Templars he had to heal, never allowed to work to save his own kind. Wynne tried to explain it to him, and he rebuffed her harshly, reminding her that all lives were equal, no matter what.

_Focus!_

The stench of blood. Donnic dropped down next to him, pauldron missing, arm at an unnatural angle, hanging limp and bleeding.

Anders turned to him next. "Bite down on something," he ordered.

Donnic removed his belt with one swift motion, put the leather between his teeth and closed his eyes. Anders pulled his arm back into its socket and Donnic screamed in pain through his clenched jaw. Blue light washed over him, healing energy from Anders' palms which were covered in blood. He yanked off his coat and rolled up his tunic sleeves, grabbing Donnic's wrist as he went to leave.

"I could use your help," he pleaded.

"What do you need me to do?" Donnic said at once.

Anders gave him orders and the last of the elfroot potions he had. Two more men joined them, one leaning on the other, his leg broken. A scream from behind him caused Anders to look around. Meredith was in the fight again, and she'd unleashed a bolt of red lightning. Isabela was knocked to the side and Anders nearly ran to her, but she slowly got to her feet, limping. He saw Hawke near the edge of the battle, casting quickly, throwing spells faster than he'd ever seen him move.

"Anders!"

Anders looked back, Donnic was asking him what to do next. In all, seven Templars and two guards perished. They had been beyond his skill to heal, and their injuries too grave for him to even try. Without any lyrium potions and his mana quickly draining, this fight needed to see an end. And fast. Someone else was shrieking now and he realized it was Meredith. He couldn't make the words out over the clanging of swords and shields, over the sound of Merrill and Hawke casting, the roaring of the fires around him.

He got to his feet, pulling on his coat and leaving behind the bodies of the men he could do nothing for and hurried across the courtyard, bending to help Cullen to his feet after Meredith scored a direct hit on his breastplate. "Are you injured?" he called over the noise.

Cullen looked up at him, and Anders remembered the shaking Templar recruit who'd been in the tower with him. Cullen was only a few years older than him, hardly able to no longer be called a boy when he came to live in the tower. It was a flash of memory that they shared, a second that seemed to stretch on forever. 

_Cullen looking at him after he emerged from his Harrowing._

_Cullen's face as he walked in on him having an intimate moment with Karl._

_Cullen lying to Knight-Commander Greagoir when asked about it._

_Cullen watching him with something like sympathy in his eyes as they threw him into solitary for the last time._

Cullen said nothing, just reached up and gripped Anders on the arm a bit too tightly before rejoining the fight. Anders watched as Meredith's armor cracked and broke, and Hawke unleashed a very powerful, fiery explosion that knocked her to her knees. She took several heaving breaths, then stood again, and they readied themselves for a renewed attack.

"I… will not… be defeated!" she shrieked. Her eyes were filled with the same red-white flames that surrounded the courtyard and her skin crackled with crimson electricity. The sword flickered, glowing brightly then fading. "Maker… aid…" The sword dimmed as she raised it. "Aid… your… humble… serva-" The sword suddenly exploded and she screamed, body thrown off balance and she fell to her knees, arms flailing as the red-white flames leapt from her eyes, from her skin, and started to consume her.

Anders watched in alarm as she burned up, skin tightening, melting, twisting, turning black and charred. They all backed quickly away, and several Templars blasphemed Andraste's name. He would've thought it was funny if it hadn't been so horrifying. The flames died down slowly, leaving behind a burned husk with wide, empty eye sockets and a mouth twisted in a silent scream. Hawke walked forward slowly, Anders right beside him. It… was over.

Or was it?

Around them, more than a dozen Templars and several guards, Knight-Captain Cullen and Carver stood, weapons raised. Anders took note of his friends, in various states of injury and well past the point of exhaustion. Were they to be arrested now after all that? Clapped in irons and taken to prison to be tried as criminals? He looked to Fenris who stood with sword held loosely in hand, breathing heavily. Varric who was staring at Meredith, wide-eye and mouth slightly opened. Isabela who was bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Merrill who had her arms folded gently across her chest, eyes narrowed, frowning. And Hawke, who'd turned from Meredith to look at him.

Anders wasn't sure what to say. What could be said? They were alive. They'd made it through one of the most excruciatingly disturbing and agonizingly long nights ever in the recorded history of Thedas. And they'd made it out alive. The clanking of Templar plate behind him caused him to wince. Despite everything, he still had his fight-or-flight instinct, and though his muscles ached and he was about to fall over, everything in him screamed to flee. He turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hawke as they faced Cullen and Carver.

Carver's expression was sorrowful. "Brother…"

"Take care of yourself, Carver," Hawke said. "Be good to Gamlen and his daughter."

Carver's eyes widen in confusion. "But-"

"Knight-Captain," Hawke said sharply and looked at Cullen. "By your leave."

Cullen paused for a moment, as if considering moving to arrest them. He sheathed his sword and shouldered his shield. Hawke saluted first, arms crossed against his chest, bowing over his fists. Cullen repeated the action, and stepped back silently. The other Templars gave them a wide berth as they walked out of the Gallows. The sky was starting to lighten, and Anders looked up to see the last of the stars fading out, the sun rising over the back of the Vimmark Mountains.

"That," Varric said, "made for one hell of an end to the story."

Anders had to agree, but Hawke merely spun his staff, hooking it over his back.

"It's not over yet."


	10. Epilogue

Anders leaned over the side of the ship, hands resting on the railing. It was two weeks since they'd left Kirkwall, and that night still felt like yesterday. He knew Hawke had nightmares of it, tossing and turning in his sleep next to him. They were lucky that a bit of simple magic did the trick to ease the tension and calm his nerves. And for what magic couldn't cure, Isabela assured them there was always rum.

They'd spent barely an hour in the city after that. Just long enough to visit the estate to collect a few things, to assure a harried Bodahn that they were fine. To will the estate jointly to Carver and Charade, who'd come up from Lowtown to look for Hawke. After Hawke gave her a hasty explanation, she hugged both him and Anders, wishing them safety, making them promise to write. Though it was his first time ever meeting Hawke's cousin, Anders pleaded with her to find Lirene and let her know he was still alive, that he would write. Charade agreed without hesitation.

Filet had bowled them both over, thrilled to see them alive, and Duchess remained pridefully indignant at having been ignored for so long. Saying good-bye to Orana had been difficult and she tried to hide her tears from them. Charade promised she would take good care of her and the estate. Sandal sadly handed them each a carved stone, saying simply and sadly, "Enchantment."

They stuffed their packs full of whatever essentials and coin they could carry, Hawke pulling an old black coat out of his closet. The one that had Anders' feather he'd taken years ago from him still stitched into the arm.

_"I didn't know you kept that," Anders laughed._

_"It's my feather," Hawke said, as if that settled the matter._

Fenris had nothing he wanted to take from the mansion except three books that Hawke gifted him when he was teaching him how to read. His sword was all he needed other than that, he explained. Merrill took only a few minutes to say goodbye to Nyssa, leaving a hastily scribbled note in her apartment for anyone else who might have come looking for her. She left the mirror behind, taking only with her a tome of spells she'd nicked from Anders' clinic years before.

They were confronted by Aveline and Donnic just before they reached the Hanged Man. There was a tense moment, Hawke and Anders standing there with Merrill and Fenris behind them.

_"You've always be a pain in my ass, Hawke," Aveline said._

_"You'd hate it if it changed," Hawke reminded her._

_"But it's going to now, isn't it?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Good," Aveline said. "I could do with some peace and quiet."_

_She shook hands with Hawke, but ignored Anders, and he accepted that._

And Varric… that had been the hardest good-bye of all. Varric couldn't come with them, couldn't just leave Kirkwall; he had too many ties to the city, his brother, and the Merchant's Guild to deal with. But he renewed his promise to Anders to publish his manifesto, and reminded Hawke that he'd track him down if he ever stopped receiving correspondence from him.

_"Just go. I hate goodbyes," Varric said._

_"Is that a tear?" Hawke laughed, and winced when Varric punched him on the arm._

_They shook hands and hugged, and left._

Movement beside him shook him from his thoughts, and he felt Hawke's arm press against his as he leaned on the railing next to him. For a while neither said anything, and Anders smiled when Hawke slid a hand over his own, entwining their fingers.

"Isabela's going to make a stop in Denerim, she's decided," Hawke said.

They'd just left Rivain not too long ago, a pit stop Isabela called it, to collect on some debts. Hawke and Anders, both hooded, explored the little fishing village for a few hours before getting back on her ship. She had no real destination, but a lot of time with which to figure it out, and Castillon's brigantine was stocked full with supplies. The crew was eager and friendly and only seemed to shy away from Fenris, who was happy to stay locked in his cabin with a candle and his books. Merrill was all too eager to learn every part of the ship and squealed in delight when Isabela let her steer.

"Denerim," Anders said. It had been ages since he'd seen the city.

"I thought maybe we could take advantage of King Alistair's hospitality for a bit. Sleep in a real bed in a room that doesn't pitch with the waves."

Anders smiled. "I'd like that."

Hawke tugged him close, pulling him into a hug. Anders felt a squirming in his coat pocket and stepped back, reaching in to pull out Duchess, who was growing larger every day. He frowned, hearing a crinkling noise, and handed her to Hawke, who cradled her to his chest, petting her gently.

"What's that?" Hawke asked, as Anders pulled out a crumpled letter.

Anders looked at it, remembering the wax seal. Remembering how he felt that day when he put quill to paper.

_My Love,_

_If you're reading this, I am dead…_

He ripped it half, then again, and again until it was in little tiny pieces. Hawke watched him, eyebrow raised.

"What was that?" he amended, as Anders flung the pieces to the sea.

The wind caught them, carrying them into the waves and out of sight.

"Just a memory," Anders said. He took Duchess back and carefully tucked her back into his coat. "Nothing to worry about."

"If you're sure."

"I am. No more living in the past. We've got an entire future ahead of us now. The mages will hear what we've done. They'll rise up. They'll break their chains," he said, voice breaking a bit with fierce pride. "The fight will continue until we're all free."

"And you don't have to fight alone," Hawke reminded him, pulling him close once more for a kiss, careful of the lump in Anders' pocket.

Anders returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Hawke's waist, holding him tightly. The future would bring with it what it would, and they would be there to meet it.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it!
> 
> Thank you everyone who read. Thank you especially to those who gave kudos. I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's been a 5-6 weeks long labor of love.
> 
> Special thanks to my girlfriend Vee who kicked my ass the entire time to keep me going. I've never written anything this long or have ever finished a project this big.
> 
> This is the typical playthrough of DA:2 for me (more or less, especially canon compliant, of course). Aggressive Male Mage Hawke is my favorite, though I do enjoy a sarcastic rogue!
> 
> Anyway, more projects to come along with little stand-alones in the future, I hope. I may come back to this one to do Mark of the Assassin and Legacy as sort of spinoffs eventually.
> 
> Thanks again everyone for reading!
> 
> Edited to add:
> 
> Fantastic, amazing fanart by ThatSkinnyGuy, who stalked me on twitter and gifted me with this gorgeous depiction of my green-eyed, scarred Hawke who shows up in pretty much every Hawke fic I write. I can't thank you enough! :)


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